


Valley Of The Shadow

by orphan_account



Category: Harry Potter - Fandom
Genre: F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-24
Updated: 2012-01-24
Packaged: 2017-10-30 01:28:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 21,494
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/326240
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Swearing to uphold the law and see justice served is easy to do, fresh out of Hogwarts and hungry to prove yourself.  the test comes when you come up against the entrenched pure-blood privellige of the Wizarding World.  And for Gawain Robards in the summer of 1980, deciding what exactly constitutes justice will be the hardest test of all.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Valley Of The Shadow

**Author's Note:**

  * In response to a prompt by [russian_blue](https://archiveofourown.org/users/russian_blue/pseuds/russian_blue) in the [aurors_fest](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/aurors_fest) collection. 



> This fic owes so very much to my insightful, generous beta. Thanks go to N for all the handholding and brainstorming, and corrections on everything from grammar to punctuation to magic. With their influence, this fic became something wonderful I never expected.

Chapter 1  
January 1996

The moment he saw Rufus slip into the front hall, only to reach out as if he were going to grasp the table for support, all thoughts of the gest he'd been prepared to make about Rufus having better survival skills than expected while he’d been away from the office for a few days vanished. All he could do was fight back the panick clawing up his throat long enough to ask: “What’s happened? Are you hurt? Did things not go according to plan in your meeting with Fudge?” Rufus looked as though he’d been through hell, and still wasn’t quite sure he’d come out on the other side. Whatever had happened was bad.

“No, no, I’m fine. Good, you don’t know yet. I wanted to get here before you read it in the papers, but there’s been no time to get away all day-“

“Don’t know what, Rufus? Read what in the papers?”

Rufus stepped away from his outstretched hand and strode briskly in to the sitting room, raising a wand to Summon a bottle of firewhiskey and two glasses from the kitchen as he went. “There’s been a breakout from Azkaban,” he said finally, once he’d topped off his glass and settled on the sofa. Gawain settled next to him, and shook his head when Rufus made to pour him a glass.

“How bad, and do they think Black’s behind it?”

“Fudge does. Kingsley doesn’t.” That didn’t surprise him a bit. If he’d not known that Kingsley was one of the most moral men alive (even if his methods were questionable, and his ideals bordered on the ridiculous on occasion), he would’ve thought Kingsley’d been bought by a Death Eater with how incompetently his hunt of Black was proceeding, and the way he was constantly, if subtlely springing to his Defense with Fudge.

“What’s his reasoning this time?”

“That if Black were going to break people out of prison, he would’ve done it before now. He says there’s no point in being on the run for over a year and not doing anything about it, especially when so many of the old signs were cropping up and people were so panicked. That would have been the ideal time to strike, according to him.”

“He’s right, you know,” Gawain said carefully. He’d always walked a knife’s edge between these two, sharing Kingsley’s belief that the Ministry was deeply flawed, while maintaining that Rufus was right and any flaws had to be changed from the inside, and not by vigilantism and actionism from without. And Kingsley had always believed the Ministry to be considerably more flawed than he, perhaps even unfixable. He was inclined to believe that while moral and just people like Rufus and Amelia worked there, and maintained their positions of power, there was hope for change from within. If they had found things to believe in that had kept them there through all the shite, there were things in the Ministry worth saving. Every genuine arrest he was able to make, every person he was able to save, made the conviction deeper, stronger. The Ministry could be inept and clumsy, and it didn’t always have the best leadership. But, when it did rise to its greatest potential, it was an unstoppable force, bent on saving and helping those who couldn’t help themselves.

“And what did you say?” he asked, rising to move behind the sofa and rest his hands on Rufus’s shoulders.

“I agreed with Fudge, of course. He’s like a child, willfully refusing to listen, and endangering people around him, and I have to rise high enough to be in a position to curb his excesses. The only way to do that is to become an advisor, much like Lucius Malfoy.”

“I’m sorry you’re having to rub shoulders with Malfoy so much.” Like almost every Auror Gawain had ever known, Rufus had an instinctive, visceral mistrust and dislike of Death Eaters who’d walked away.

“He’s decided to rely on Malfoy mostly for funds. The internal Ministry politics and his public perception efforts, he’s keeping within the Ministry.”

“Makes sense, with how paranoid he’s getting about Dumbledore. Anyone who’s not loyal directly to the Ministry could go and alert Dumbledore, and Merlin knows Malfoy likes playing both sides to the middle.”

“Fudge’s thoughts, exactly.”

“What if Dumbledore’s right, Rufus, and it really is Voldemort?”

“Damn it, is that necessary, Gawain?”

“He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named takes too long, and I’m tired of using a sentences’ worth of description on a man whose been gone for nearly a decade and a half.”

“It doesn’t matter whether it’s He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, or Black, or another one of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named’s followers that escaped arrest. You know we didn’t catch all of them. We did the best we could, but the ones who only gave him funds or small amounts of support, we would never find without the help of the Death Eaters we’d managed to catch. And you know as well as I that they weren’t talking.” 

“Why would one of them decide to act now, after so long? And do you really think Black escaped Azkaban to take over a power vacuum that’s been empty for thirteen years?” He hoped his incredulity showed clearly.

“No one can predict a madman, Gawain. It’s as likely as other explanations, especially when you consider how well the breakout was executed; that took time and planning, and just the right amount of weakness in our own security. Perhaps no good opportunity had presented itself, before now.”

“MMM. That could be, I suppose but-“

“But it doesn’t matter. Whether it’s Black, or Nocturn malcontents stirring up the trouble, the Dark is on the rise again. The threat level is becoming significant; people are beginning to be in real danger. But Fudge is so worried about it seeming that Dumbledore was right, he won’t move, even when the reports of the breakout and the terror caused at the World Cup are right in front of him.”  
“So, if he’s not doing anything about it, what are you planning?”

“I need to get in a position where I’m given information nearly as rapidly as the Minister. That’ll be the only way to act on threats; to tell him we’re investigating and eradicating them so he isn’t inconvenienced later. Once he trusts us-“ he broke off. “I’m sorry, Gawain. I shouldn’t have included you without asking-“

“Stop that. You know I’m with you; I have been for twenty years. What would make you think I’d stop now? I can see the signs as well as you can, and someone’s got to do something, or we’re going to have another Dark Lord on our hands.” Or the one we had last time. But he knew how little stock Rufus put in Dumbledore’s theories, with his whimsy and Muggle sweets, and his habit of stepping in as Chief Warlock on behalf of people like Severus Snape and Mundungus Fletcher. He didn’t think Rufus would ever forgive Dumbledore for using his influence to ensure that a Death Eater walked free, and swept around Britain in those black robes like he ruled the country, and was just waiting for everyone else to realize it.

“I thought you would be.” Rufus’s shoulders still relaxed in relief. He knew how much Gawain hated politics; the way you were constantly having to get your hands dirty and tell yourself that the ends justified the means until your hands were nearly as filthy as those you’d started out to get rid of. He’d never wanted to step in to that arena, but he sure as hell wasn’t letting Rufus go in there without someone to watch his back.

“I’ll put myself back on the duty rosters as an undercover operative. Not just for the tricky cases that need an experienced one, but for any and all of them. I saw the signs and alliances last time, and I’ll be able to pick them up again.”

“I know you wanted to foster-“

“Which is why I backed off all but the hardest field work and just focused on my responsibilities coordinating the operatives and informants, and helping you run the overall office, I know. But there aren’t many experienced ones left, and most of them have families. I’m not going to ask parents to leave their kids, not when I can do the same work and just postpone things a bit.” He’d never be able to adopt, not while he infiltrated poison brewers and rebel Dark groups with plans for world domination and black market caravans that thrived in Nocturn Alley. Not when all that stood between him and discovery was a flask of Polyjuice and his acting ability.

“Gawain, I-“

“The more arrests we get, whether they’re related directly to Azkaban or not, the higher you’ll rise in Fudge’s good graces. Whoever makes him look as though he’s coming down hard on the Dark after this will be the person of the hour, Rufus,” he said, briskly, swallowing back his grief. He’d wanted children for so long…had waited for so long…had worked to get himself in a stable enough position within the Aurors that he wasn’t constantly running in to danger, because if he were going to be a single parent, he’d better be in as low-risk a position as possible.

“You’ve wanted this from the moment Elayne left you,” Rufus said, quietly. “And you’ve set it aside, again and again, for me. For my career.”

“There’s also the slight fact that I think you’re the best person possible to be the next Minister,” he said rather wryely.

“I don’t take what you’re doing lightly, Gawain.”

“I know that. Why else do you think I’ve been here, no matter what, for two decades? Now, who are we tracking down?”

“Gawain, I…I’ve been wondering how to say this all day, and there’s no way to…” he frowned, “Soften this,” he said, after a while.

“Rufus, we’ve just had people break out of Azkaban, and by the way you’re talking, they’re Death Eaters. I’m not sure what can be harder than that.”

“All three of the Lestranges, Rookwood, Dolohov, Travers…all the usual suspects…and Mulciber.”

All the breath left him in a rush, and he sat, mouth open, searching for something, anything, to say. There’d been a time when he’d been engaged to be married, when this house had been meant to be bursting at the seams with children, when rising through the Ranks had been about proving a point to all the people who whispered behind their hands about a Muggle-born’s capability, while denouncing the Death Eaters with their next breath. And then, he’d attempted to arrest Mulciber, and when the dust had settled…Elayne was gone, and every dream, every ambition he’d ever held had seemed so petty and useless. And he’d needed to carve a new path, that would’ve been nearly unrecognizable to the man he’d been, then.

Chapter 2  
June 1980

Gawain vomited again and again, long after there was nothing left of his dinner, or the drinks that had come after, and then lay, cheek pressed to the icy tile while his head pounded as though a Centaur herd was galloping through his skull.

“Gawain?” Rufus’s hand rested tentatively on his back, and he turned his head slowly, ever so slowly until he was staring at Rufus’s mirror-bright boots. “Gawain, Barty wants to see you in an hour. I attempted to explain…but he says it’s vital to the war, and it is your duty as an Auror to be on call whenever necessary, unless you wished to resign your post. Here.” There was suddenly cool metal against his lips, and when he opened his mouth to ask what Rufus was giving him, a thick, acidic liquid poured down his throat and he choked, eyes watering so much he needed to blink several times, hard, to bring Rufus back in to focus.

“Swallow,” Rufus said, mercilessly. “It’s hangover Potion. Here…here’s water to clear the taste.” Again, the cool glass pressed against his lips, and he gulped, greatfully. Merlin, besides being some of the fowlest stuff he’d ever tasted (and that was saying something, considering the healing brews Aurors received at St. Mungos), it made him thirsty. Rufus murmured, and he heard water pouring in to the glass, and realized he must have drained it. 

“Did you stay all night?” he croaked, seeing Rufus was wearing the same robes as yesterday.

“Yes.”

Finally, he pushed himself laboriously up on one elbow, head spinning madly.

Slowly, he reached out, and realized in relief as his fingers wrapped around the glass that his hands were steady enough to manage holding it. And, if he moved very, very slowly, he could bring it to his mouth and sip. 

“She didn’t come back, did she?” he asked, after another moment.

“No, Gawain.”

“Is she leaving?” Christ, he couldn’t even summon up desperation or grief or even rage. All he could summon was exhaustion, and the feeling that this had been inevitable. Everyone had said they could never work. He, the serious Auror, and she the rich and slightly quirky half-lood who could have comfortably lived on her family’s money but had decided to work in Experimental Charms instead. She’d had only the vaguest ideas, from what he could bear to tell her about work and what she read in the Prophet exactly what his job was like, and she drove him mad with her forgetfulness and downright carelessness where security measures were concerned. He’d always remember the third time they’d slept together, when he’d realized this wasn’t just going to be a fling and had, tentatively, brought up the subject of security. 

“I’m just that woman, Gawain. The odd one from Experimental Charms. The Death Eaters have no reason to hurt me.”

“You’re…we’re…I’m a Muggle-born and we’re…”

“They’ll have to kill many more people before a Junior Muggle-born Auror becomes important. I’m not saying that the time won’t come when caution is necessary, but it isn’t now, and I won’t let you bring your paranoia home, Gawain Robards.”

And he’d never been able to put in to words the horror of seeing corpses, so mutilated that if they hadn’t been wearing clothes, they wouldn’t have been recognizeable as human. Corpses that had been people who hadn’t believed they were important enough to warrant Voldemort’s notice, either; corpses who hadn’t looked peaceful, the way dead people were supposed to look, but had died, with their faces twisted in pain, mouths wide in screams.

How could you explain to someone who sat in a room, making beautiful things that had no real practical use, save to see if they could be made, and how it could be done, that a few simple things, no matter how silly they seemed, really could be the difference between life and death? How could you explain that while putting extensive wards around every room in your house seemed like overkill if they’d just done it, they could have kept retreating until the Aurors came. That, just perhaps, they might still be alive; that she might be the example some Auror struggled to explain about to someone else one day?

And yet, she made him feel that there could be peace after this, the way no one except Rufus ever had before. And she made him laugh; Merlin, he had never laughed so much, or so freely, before he met her. And, despite all his doubts, somehow, he’d believed they could conquer all of it, if only they were together. 

And even now, when the prospects were looking so bleak, he couldn’t help thinking how small and insignificant his troubles really were, in comparison to the Prophet headlines. And he hated it, viciously, furiously. He wanted to scream, rail, grieve. And yet how could he? There was so much pain and death and desperation; what right did he have to self-pity or grief of his own, when everyone else’s was over so much larger, more devastating events. At least Elayne was alive and safe. At least she wasn’t…“She’s dead, isn’t she? Tezlin, I mean. That’s why you stayed the night, because you didn’t want me to read it in the paper.”

Rufus paused in the doorway, and then turned back, moving to stand in front of Gawain in three quick strides. He knelt beside him, somehow managing to crouch comfortably in the far too small space. Long, calloused fingers came to rest, warm and solid, against the skin of his right shoulder, and he realized just what a mess his robes were. Unbuttoned and crumpled, with a torn shirt underneath from where he’d fallen in the alley as Rufus’d tried to both hold him upright and extract a sobriety Potion───At least if Gawain were remembering things correctly.

“St. Mungos did everything they could, Gawain. She went in to a coma at about three this morning. Doge’s best guess was that if she did wake up, she’d have permanently lost what function she’d regained after Mulciber’s curse.”

“Utter bastard,” Gawain whispered, and Rufus looked at him inquiringly.

“Finn or Barty.”

“Finn. I told him Veriteserum was too much for her system-“

“We all told him, but Barty wanted answers-“

“And Finn doesn’t want Barty to look too closely in to why he shows up with puke in his hair two mornings out of five. So, he’ll do whatever he has too to get them.”

“You know how hard losing Moira hit him, Gawain. And when he’s functioning at full capacity, he’s the best Head Auror anyone could want.”

“He was too much of a coward to kill her himself-“

“Gawain, there was no garuntee the Potion would be that fatal,” Rufus snapped.

“The hell there wasn’t. She just wasn’t good enough to worry about because she was a Dark bookstore owner”

“I understand-”

“No, you don’t! She was trying. She was trying so hard to talk, and she hated what the Imperius Curse had done because no one except Juniper-“ he stopped and breathed, ragged desperate gasps as Rufus’s hand began to rub circles on the exposed skin, kneading at the tight muscles. “Because no one would touch her, or hold her. “

“They said you were the one keeping her restrained when the seizures started,” Rufus said, carefully, and he nodded.

“I was holding her when she started vomiting blood. The shirt’s in my bag, but I…“ He swallowed down the bile that was rising up his throat, and tried desperately to stop shivering. The nausea subsided, but the shivering remained.

“I’ll take care of it, Gawain. Get cleaned up. I’ll make some toast and coffee…you won’t feel nearly as sick after you swallow the Potion, fowl as it may be, and you’ll want coffee.” Rufus rose slowly, and moved to the doorway. He stopped for a moment, looking back, and then said softly: “Finn should have sent one of the Senior Aurors in, Gawain. I…I don’t know why he decided you would be the most suitable person for this, but-“

“Oh, you can’t guess?”

“I have several guesses. I think you also see prejudice about your blood status and your specialty that isn’t there, Gawain. Finn has never shown Muggle-born prejudice, and while he hates the Dark, he knows you only infiltrate them for information.”

“Half the force thinks I’ve been corrupted by the Dark because I work undercover so much, and I’ll be getting the Dark Mark any day because I want more power. And the other half think I make them bigger targets on the battlefield because everyone knows I’m Muggle-born. They all want me to leave.” He hated the sullen bitterness that was creeping in to his tone.

“You’ve very nearly exceeded your self-pity limit for a week in one day, Auror.”

“You’re imposing limits, now?”

“My privellidge, as of last week.”

“Oh, that comes with being made Deputy Head, does it?”

He was grinning, despite himself. Merlin knew why he found Rufus so damn amusing; everyone else seemed to believe he was painfully dry.

“Precisely. Get cleaned up, or you can starve through Barty’s meeting…he said he’d have you in his office until at least lunch, and we need to leave in forty-five minutes. I’d prefer half an hour,” Rufus said casually, as he closed the door behind him.

“Shite, why didn’t you tell me the meeting was going to be that long?” Gawain shouted, incensed.

“I had rather hoped it would be your duty, and not the promise of no food all day that would get you moving.”

Growling under his breath, he reached for the sink, pulling himself up by inches, joints protesting all the while.

By the time he’d inched to the shower and remembered which tap produced warm water, he’d realized his stomach was beginning to settle, and the headache was beginning, reluctantly, to ease.

As he lathered his hair, while the warm water pounded his still stiff shoulder muscles, his mind was drawn inexorably back to the day before, and the beginning of all this. To Tezlin Dobrect, with all her lovely silver jewelry, and her utterly desolate, haunted eyes. To how very badly he’d failed her.

Chapter 3

Tezlin’s hands had trembled, violently. It was the first thing Gawain noticed about her. They were clenched into small, white-knuckled fists. But that didn’t stop her rings from chattering against the table with the force of her spasms. 

It was ironic how that one detail overshadowed everything else for a moment. The neat, freshly pressed robes, and the immaculate hair, so fair a blonde it was difficult to see the first streaks of silver at her temples. It all became utterly inconsequential for a moment when you first saw the spasms.

“I’m Gawain Robards, one of the Junior Aurors,” he said slowly, not even sure if she could understand him. He saw her eyes travel slowly to his face (his smoothe, utterly unscarred face).

“Oh.” Slurred and thick, but intelligible. He opened his mouth to continue, and then saw the slump of her shoulders, and head, and wanted to curse. 

Scars would’ve meant experience, would’ve meant competence. Would’ve meant that they took her seriously. As it was, it’d been made abundantly clear that as far as the head of his office, and probably his Department were concerned, she was a just-on-this-side-of -the-law bookstore owner, with a faultering body and an even faultier mind, who they’d listen too, mostly because they had no better alternatives.

He’d known just how little she mattered for nearly a week now, since Barty Crouch had sent the order to Finn McDermid to get answers out of the woman as soon as she was released from St. Mungos, by whatever means necessary, and Finn’d stood in his office door, grinning crookedly and said: “I know how bored you must be, not roaming around Nocturn for nearly a fortnight. Wouldn’t want you to forget the slang.“ His teeth had begun grinding so hard he knew damn well it was audible. “You’ll be doing the Dobrect interview. She should be just your sort of subject. Grey without being dark, and a former bookstore owner, before Mulciber got his hands on her. You should be quite chatty within a quarter of an hour.”

“Thank you sir,” he’d said, politely. “I’ll certainly gain whatever information from Tezlin I can. But…sir, I don’t think it’ll help much with my slang. Tezlin lives in one of the newer flats off Diagon, sir.”

“Toadstools and spots, Robards. I’m sure you’re aware of the saying,” he’d responded, dismissively.

“Of course, sir.” He hated Finn’s disdain, but he knew he’d hear words from Rufus about his last comment; no point in adding another, especially when they didn’t even seem to faze the other man.

“Tezlin,” he’d said then, shaking off the memory. Being furious with Finn didn’t help her feel any less like shite on the floor, and Finn wasn’t likely to have a sudden reformation in the next quarter hour, and declare her the bravest woman he’d heard of in a long while. “You’ve done something that very few, even among the Aurors, have achieved by throwing off Mulciber’s Imperius Curse. We at the Ministry would like to know precisely how that happened, what sorts of coping mechanisms you used…and of course, we’re always attempting to catch and incarserate Death Eaters, Tezlin, and Mulciber is one of the most dangerous because of his skill with the Imperius Curse.” He tried a smile, knowing his voice was too calm, too distant. But, if he paused to consider what this woman had already been through, he would never be able to carry out the worst of Finn’s orders. And this interview was so damnd important. The transcript of it would be going to Bartty Crouch. And this was the first time, even as a gest, he’d really been asked to use his CI skills within the office. Mostly, if he wasn’t working a case, he was helping people catch up with their paperwork, running and researching in the archives…occasionally teaching, and going out when there was a need for large numbers of the force on the battlefield. But he wasn’t trained for large scale combat the way someone like Rufus was. For someone undercover, the most important skills were close quarters fighting, and one on one dueling, not maylay style fighting. Most of the Dark groups, even those contracted by the Death Eaters to brew poisons or retrieve artifacts were small. The most he’d fought was three, maybe four. Not the twenty or thirty Rufus was used to dealing with. And he fought best when alone or with one other person. To take out large groups of Death Eaters, Rufus and the others trained for maylay combat had to fight in a pack, all their formations precisely rehearsed, and he fowled them up more often than not.

All of which left his days rather unbearably dull. And if he could gain recognition of his skill with subjects through this interview…there were rumors that Philips wasn’t coming back at the end of his medical leave. And that was going to leave a vacancy for head of the CIs. He knew for a fact most of the experienced ones wanted to focus full-time on field work. He’d already shown he had leadership ability, infiltrating the London headquarters of a poison ring that’d had branches all over the Uk. He’d dispensed information to three other people at other bases of operation, dolling it out carefully, so they wouldn’t slip and reveal information they weren’t supposed to have weeks ahead of time. And, he’d managed to keep some of the rasher ones in line until the night they had enough hard evidence on all four branches to take them out in one go. Barty’d been impressed, not only that they caught them, but that he’d ensured none of them obtained information by means that wasn’t legal for CIs (no Imperius Curses or Veritaserum slipped in to someone’s drink, etc.) and the brewers’ advocates had no inappropriate conduct alligations for Appeal. If Barty thought he was ruthless enough to do what needed to be done, and charismatic enough to keep other people within the law while ensuring that they also did what needed to be done…well, Finn’s choice could be overruled by Barty, if he didn’t think they were quite as capable.

Damn it, he wanted to turn Finn’s mockery against him, wanted to show that Rufus’s reports as his trainer hadn’t been overexaggerated…that it hadn’t been his skill while on his back that’d made Rufus recommend him for graduation, which he new perfectly well was the current office gossip.

Not that he hadn’t considered…a time or ten, before he’d met Elayne…Rufus was one of the most eye-catching people Gawain’d ever met. He’d wondered if Rufus kissed the way he fought; all aggression and ferocity. What would it be like, to have all that focused on your pleasure, and to return the favor? And Rufus’s hair. He’d had the distinct urge more than once to make it a hell of a lot messier than it got on assignment. To see it spread all across a pillow…to know just how bright the red highlights were, in sunlight, and then, in the gentler light of a candle.

And there were damn good reasons he hadn’t. Rufus had Ministerial ambitions, and Gawain loathed politics. Gawain wanted kids, and Rufus loathed them. There was no way in hell they could make something last, with such different dreams. And even before he’d met Elayne, and found everything he wanted, and so very much more, he’d known better than to get in a relationship that wouldn’t last.

“At any rate,” he said quickly, when he realized that Tezlin and a younger woman he assumed was her daughter--who’d been given clearance to enter--were staring at him. He was being ridiculous, irrational, letting completely inconsequential thoughts postpone the saying of what inevitably had to be said. “We know you’ve had quite a lot of trouble with linear recall in terms of long-term memory. So, we-“ the hell with it. She wasn’t likely to report what he said to Finn. “My superiors feel it is best that you take Veritaserum. If the answer to a question is something you know, it’ll come out, without you even needing to consider it.”

“Is it safe?” the younger woman asked, resting a hand gently on Tezlin’s shoulder. Something in the gesture made him hesitate. There was so much caring in the way her hand rested, and she was looking at Tezlin with so much protective ferocity he almost wanted to look away. “She’s been through so much, and she’s trying so hard. She’s the bravest woman I’ll ever know.” Tears glittered on her lashes. “Please…we tried to ask the man who was in here before, but he said you’d answer everything. This won’t hurt her more, will it?”

He slipped his wand out of his sleeve, and warded the doors and the windows, then added an extra layer, just to be safe.

“It may,” he said, hardly knowing what he was doing, hardly daring to move his lips more than absolutely necessary, irrationally frightened that someone would throw off a Disillusionment Charm and accuse him of high treason. Not that trying to be a ventriloquist was going to help with that, but still.   
“The problem is that, now that your mother-“ the woman snorted, almost bitterly, and he arched an eyebrow, but she gestured sharply for him to continue. “Is within the walls of the Ministry…they can hold her here indefinitely until she agrees to take it.”

“Just do the interview without it, then.”

“I can’t do that. I have to record the time the Potion was administered with Truth ink-“ Finn was clever, Gawain’d grant-“And if it isn’t on the parchment, they’ll bring her back in and make someone else do the interview. They’re afraid with the memory loss…some crucial detail will be lost. The best thing I can offer is for her to take it and get the interview over as quickly as possible, so you can get her home.”

“It’s her choice,” the woman said tightly, coiled as though to spring.

“Juniper?”

The other woman looked at Tezlin questioningly. She lifted one of her trembling hands from the table, beckoning her closer, and he realized how claw-like it had become, paper-thin white skin drawn tightly over far too prominent bones.

“I need to step out for a moment,” he said, watching Tezlin trying to lean forward to murmur in the other woman’s ear. This was too much, too real. He would’ve felt as protective as she did about any member of his family who was being subjected to this.

He needed to regain his distance. To remember why he was doing this. The higher in the ranks he rose, the more people he could help, he reminded himself, as he crossed to the door. He just wished that didn’t feel like an empty excuse, at times like this.

“Can I get either of you anything?” he asked, pausing before turning the knob. Merlin, they hadn’t even brought in any coffee or tea or toast.

“Coffee?” Juniper asked softly, and received a shake of the head. “Tea?” Another shake, far more vigorous this time. “Juice?” A nod. “Apple?” Another nod.

“I’ll have cocoa, if you have any?” Juniper said, softly. “And…” she blushed. “If you’ve got any scones…they’ve been keeping her on this awful diet at the hospital. I asked the man who came in here earlier, but we haven’t seen hide nor hair of him.”

“What did he look like?”

“Grey hair, blue eyes.” Finn; why was he not surprised?

“Juice, cocoa, and scones with all the trimmings. Will do; anything else?” They both shook their heads, and he closed the door behind him.

He took the stairs instead of the lift, giving himself time to compose his face before he was seen by Crouch or Finn.

By the time he’d reached Level 2, he was calmer, and if his breaths were short, that was only from how fast he’d climbed.

“Sign me out?” he called to Rufus, as he passed through the doors of the Auror office.

“Why?”

“I’m running up the street and picking Tezlin up some scones.”

“Gawain-“

“I’ll administer the Potion as ordered, after she’s had breakfast, sir, unless there’s a time limit on the interview.”

“No, Gawain.” He sighed. “Write it on your expense report, and I’ll see it charged to the Aurors vault as a necessary interview item.” Rufus crossed the space between them, and pressed a few Sickles and a Galleon in to his palm, curling his fingers tightly around them when Gawain attempted to give them back. “And get yourself a decent cup of coffee, not the swill the Ministry serves.”

“I will. I don’t need-“

“You made the down payment on the house last week. I’d bet this month’s salary you don’t have a damn thing left in your vault.”

“I’ve got food enough to last until pay day. Everything else can wait. The House is absolutely worth it. Merlin, I can’t wait for a day off to show it to Elayne.”

“All of which I am perfectly aware. However, you become impossible without proper coffee. Consider it pre-emptive self-defense.”

“I’ll keep a running tab and pay you back the minute next month’s salary is in the vault,” he said tensely. “I don’t want…I’m not attempting to take advantage of your pay raise.”  
His chin was caught in a vice-like grip until he couldn’t look away from those blazing, yellow eyes. “I know you’ll pay it back, Gawain. If you need money to see you through until the end of the month…”

“I’m fine,” he said, tightly, wishing the floor would open and drag him even further underground. Rufus shrugged, nodded, and finally let him proceed on his way.

The gazes he met as he passed between the cubicles ran the gambit, from exhausted to determined to grief-stricken. He stopped and touched John Lawrence’s shoulder. “How are you and the kids doing?”

“We’re-“ the man took a deep breath, smile firmly in place, opened his mouth and then seemed to crumple, huddling in his chair. “They cry all night for their Mum,” he whispered, helplessly. “And Marie won’t eat. It doesn’t matter what I do. She wants her Mum to feed her. I just don’t do it right. I don’t know any of the games Liss used to play with Danniel. We played Exploding Snap yesterday.”

“That’s good,” he said bracingly, and then saw the tears standing in the other man’s eyes.

“He knocked it over before the house was even half done, and started crying for his Mum. They always sang when they played, but I don’t know what it was, Gawain, and he won’t tell me.”

“Why don’t Elayne and I take them this weekend?”

“Gawain…I don’t know if you’d want to do that for the whole weekend. They’re-“

“Yes, we do. We know they may be tricky, but we’ve both dealt with traumatized kids, in different contexts. You know they bring Elayne in to consult on rare Charms at St. Mungos and well…you think your kids could possibly be any harder than the kids of a black market poison brewer? Didn’t think so,” he finished, at the other man’s dawning grin and straightened shoulders.

“You’re serious, mate, the whole weekend?”

“Yes.”

“Oh Merlin, it’ll be good too…I didn’t get to the graveyard to lay flowers for her birthday.”

“You do that. Go have a drink at the Leaky, and get some sleep, yeah?”

“What do I say, Gawain?”

“About what, John?”

“She was a Squib,” he whispered, roughly. “You know that. She couldn’t even defend herself.”

“Oh, I’d say if all the blood splattered on the walls was any indication, she did a damn fine job,” he said softly. She’d wielded a knife to terrifyingly good effect, even against men with wands. Men clutching their bellies and screaming weren’t thinking they could kill you with two words.

“I should’ve made her and the kids leave the country, or been home more. I should’ve requested to be put on the reserves. I wasn’t there. And eventually, they took the knife away from her, Gawain. And I don’t need to look at the reports to know it took her hours to die. They didn’t even have to worry about the kids getting in the way.” Liss’d distracted the Death Eaters just long enough for her kids to get to the emergency Portkeys for the Auror office. And she’d been so damdnd close to one herself when…and Merlin knew, he was right about how long they’d…It’d been the middle of the night when the kids’d Portkeyed in, but nearly everyone on night shift was out putting down a raid some of the Nocturn orphans had started. He’d need to chat with his birdies to be certain, but he was fairly sure they’d been paid to effect the raid to distract from any survivors of the Lawrence house. And it’d taken hours for them to get everything sorted, and a rescue party organized. By the time they’d gotten there, the death Eaters had Disapparated. And all she could make was an awful, rasping, gurgling shriek, the stump of her tongue just visible when she opened her mouth.

What’d happened then he’d carry to his grave, he and Rufus, who’d been the first to find her. Rufus’d stared at him for a long time, all the color drained from his face, and then said hoarsely:

“You know more about Dark Curses than I do. Can she survive it?”   
He’d raised his wand, moving it in swift patterns as he'd traced Runes in the air above her. “They used Dark Curses for everything, Rufus. Her feet and hands are barely attached….her back…if you want to know, turn her over, but I wouldn’t, if I were you.”

Rufus’d bent until his face was on a level with hers. Gawain’d never know how he hadn’t recoiled from the wreak of vomit and blood and other things he didn’t want to identify, and said, just loudly enough so that Gawain could also hear: “Did you hear and understand that?” Her eyes had blinked rapidly twice. “We could be wrong, Liss. We can take you to hospital. Doge may very well be able to fix this, or at least…make things considerably better than they are now. Or-“ His wand’d pressed the skin at her temple, owl-feather light, and his yellow eyes never blinked. Gawain’d seen the two rapid blinks of her eyes, and the tears sliding from beneath her lids. “Twice for yes?” Rufus’d asked, very, very quietly, and she’d blinked again, twice.

“Gawain? Are we agreed on this?”

He’d nodded, throat too tight for speech. Trying to Portkey her to hospital, with the injuries she had... it’d be cruel beyond words.

“Do you want me to get John?” he’d asked, because she had a right to consult with her husband if she wanted, no matter how many frantic looks Rufus was shooting him that clearly said they didn’t have time, because this would never be sanctioned.  
She’d blinked, once. 

“We’ll miss the bread,” Rufus said, softly, and Gawain knew how very callus some would have found that statement, and how very much the opposite it truly was. “You even outshown Gawain, in that area of cooking.”

“We’ll take care of the kids, and John,” he’d said, not even sure anything would come out once his mouth had opened until the words emerged. She’d rolled her head, until the palm of Rufus’s other hand was cupping her cheek.

And then, she’d closed her eyes, and green had exploded through the room. Gawain’d closed his eyes, concentrating, murmuring spell after spell, and in a moment, there was no trace of Rufus’s Magical Signature left in the room. He’d learned to clear his signature from a scene as part of his undercover work; he’d never believed he’d use it to help his best friend kill someone.

When the others arrived, after searching the rest of the house for traces of which of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named’s followers had done this, Gawain’d met their eyes squarely and said: “She was dead when we came in. Rufus found her.”

“Would you testify to that under Veritaserum, Auror?” Deputy Head of Magical Law Enforcement Amelia Bones asked, suspicion clear in the line of her shoulders.

“Yes,” he’d said, voice completely level. If he could look in to the blazing eyes of a man who could make his life hell every month with one graze of his teeth, and say that he wanted to take all those Ministry bastards down…he could do this, he’d told himself firmly, and finally, Amelia’d nodded. 

“Very well. If you are that certain…” He’d nodded again, firmly, and they’d very gently begun removing the body and cleaning up.

“Liss thought you were the bravest man in the world for doing what you did,” he finally told John. “Tell her you think she was brave, too, and that her kids are safe.” When he eventually became a parent well…he wasn’t looking to die, but if Rufus, Elayne, and his kids could be made safe because of it…he’d consider that a price well paid. And he knew Liss would have, too. too.

“I’ll see you on Friday at the end of shift,” he said softly, feeling Rufus’s eyes boaring in to his back, and knowing he needed to get those scones, and get the interview completed. Chapter 4

The smile that bloomed across Tezlin’s face at the first whiff of scones made her radiant.

He charmed a napkin to hover just beneath her hands to keep any mess off her robes, and then laid out the toppings. Cream, jam, butter, marmalade. He’d tried to get everything and anything he could imagine on scones, and he saw her eyes widen as her hand moved to hover over each container.

“I put a Replenishing Charm on the juice and the scones, so have your fill,” he said quietly, as he pressed the cocoa in to Juniper’s hands. “And that, too,” he said hastily, as she examined the cup.

“Thank you,” she said quietly, standing. “They won’t let me stay for the interview. Is there some way you can let me know when it’s finished?”

“Yes,” he said, through a Speaking Spell, and saw her eyes widen. “An invention of the Aurors,” he went on, when he also saw Tezlin eyeing him curiously. “I just used a Spell to speak to Juniper. As long as I think the incantation while visualizing Juniper hard enough and then think a message, I can communicate with her, no matter where she is, unless the place has been warded against Speaking Spells.” He shouldn’t be engaging this much with her, he reminded himself; it was only going to make the interrogation harder.

But she was smiling, even as she awkwardly struggled to spread clotted cream on a scone. He’d’ve been furious in her place, but she seemed giddy as a child to have scones to spread it on, and hands to do it with, no matter how clumsy they might be. There was something about the way she took such joy in something so simple that left him breathless and smiling, despite himself.

“Would Flourish and Blotts be warded?” Juniper asked, and he blinked a moment before he recalled what they’d been talking about.

“No, it isn’t.”

“Good. I was going to go and pick up some books,” she smiled at Tezlin. “Now, did you want the ordinary or annotated history of the Goblin rebellions by Bathilda Bagshot."

“Annotated.” Even through the slurring and a mouth full of food, she sounded testy. “The ordinary never has the footnotes.”

He laughed before he could stop himself, and Tezlin smiled at him for the first time. “You like books?” she asked carefully, and he realized one got used to her voice the more one listened, and it became considerably easier to understand her.

“I was a Ravenclaw at Hogwarts,” he said, knowing that was all the explanation she would need.

She grinned, and fumbled with the left sleeve of her robes, eventually baring a faded eagle tattooed on her bicep.)

“What year?” he asked without thinking.

“1952.” Her hand suddenly trembled more violently than usual, and a dollop of cream slid from her scone.

She looked down, patting at the front of her robes fretfully, until she realized that the napkin he’d set to hover had caught it.

“Thank you,” she said softly. “I hate messes.” He heard the catch in her voice, and realized she must’ve made a great deal of them since she’d gotten free of Mulciber.

“I think that’s practically a house trait,” he said, as cheerfully as he could, and she gave a chuckle; he smiled, tentatively, and she grinned. One side of her mouth was immobile, he noticed, so it came out rather crooked.

Her hand moved in Juniper’s direction, and even with her stiff fingers, they all recognized it as a shooing gesture. “Go, go, I want to talk books…if you can.” Rufus would kill him, slowly.

“Of course. At least until the scones are gone.”

Juniper’s shoulders were stiff as she crossed her arms over her chest. “He’s trying to take you off your guard,” she said furiously.

“Doesn’t need to. The potion makes you tell the truth.”

“Well, he’s…” she fumbled for something dire enough, then flung up her hands in defeat. “Doing something.”

“Juniper, you can’t stay.”

“I know that.”

“Then go, now. And stop fretting. I’ll be fine.” He saw the fear beneath her smile.

“Veritaserum isn’t like Imperius,” he said gently.

“It makes you talk, and she doesn’t have a real choice in taking it,” Juniper fumed. “How is that not like the Imperius?”

“She came in of her own volition. All Veritaserum will do is help her remember the entire truth, and since she’s here, she obviously wants to tell us that anyway. We can’t…make her do anything else.” He remembered Mulciber’s idea of sport very well from school, and Imperius would’ve only helped along his proclivities.

The woman opened her mouth, as though to protest further, then took another look at Tezlin.

“I'll be back with the books,” she said tightly, and then fled. Gawain hurried after her   
“Juniper?”

“What?” He took a moment to be glad this floor of the Ministry had been designed for interrogations, with each room layered in Silencing Wards. In most other parts of the Ministry, her furious exclamation would’ve had people passing outside the door stopping to gawk.  
“She’ll be fine. I’ll make sure of it. Question her slowly, and stop if the Veritaserum seems to be taking too much of a toll.” How he was going to convince Finn not to bring her back for another interview was another thing entirely, but she deserved to live another century, damn it.

She stared at him for a long time. Finally, she nodded.  
“Is she all right?” Tezlin asked when he returned, and he nodded.

“She will be. She’s just worried about you.”

Over the next three quarters of an hour, they talked, leaping from Goblin rebellions to Millicent Bagnold’s job performance as Minister.  
Finally, she pushed away her plate, and looked at him.

“We should do this.”

“There’s no hurry. You could have another scone.” How had he lost all his prized distance and calm so quickly? He was more than half-tempted to go tell Finn to go to hell, and ask Barty Crouch for an overrule of Finn’s directive concerning Veritaserum. Not that he was likely to succeed, with Crouch’s determination to eradicate the Death Eaters by whatever means necessary, but…

“Will you catch him?”

“Mulciber?”

“And the man that helped him?”

“He…had an accomplice?”

“Won’t sell to people I know are with the Dark Lord. Dangerous, if they don’t like what they get.”

“Oh…yes, if we can find out who he was…yes, of course we’ll catch him, too. And yes, we really do want to catch Mulciber. It may take a long time, but we will.”

“Do it, before I’m more scared.” He refilled her glass, and put in three drops of the Potion from a vile retrieved from one of the cabinets.

“Will it be awful?”

“The taste, or the interview?”

“Taste?”

“It won’t taste any different. Now-“ he pressed the juice into her hand, and her fingers curled around his with surprising strength. “Relax. Everything’s fine. Once you drink this, I’ll start asking questions. Once the interview’s over, I’ll put my memory in a Pensive, and write everything down. We can go as slowly as you want too; I’ve got nothing scheduled for the day.” She kept hold of his fingers while she raised the glass, and he didn’t protest.

She had, he discovered throughout the interview, one of the most interesting life stories he’d heard in a while. Raised by a staunchly light pure-blood family, she’d met and fallen in love with Angela Treadwillow, a brothel owner in Knockturn Alley. Juniper was Angela’s niece, who’d come with her because Angela was afraid she wouldn’t be allowed on Ministry property.

Once she’d decided to make a life with Angela her family had cut her off, and, not wanting to be Angela’s “kept woman”, she’d set about trying to find a way to make her own living. She’d begun researching the morality of so-called Dark Magic, documenting cases where Dark Magic had been used to help, rather than harm.

She’d eventually decided not to proceed with a research paper; her reputation as Angela Treadwillow’s lover would have proceeded her, and no reputable journal would have published it. But it’d given her an understanding of the Dark, and a commitment to freedom of information. She’d found as much bias against Dark wizards and their work, as there was against light work in countries like Bulgaria and Russia.   
She believed, passionately, that if Dark Magic and the people wielding it were better understood, there would be far fewer people being disenfranchised by the Ministry, and far fewer easy pickings for Voldemort. So, in 1972, she’d opened Blemish and Blot (he couldn’t quite believe the nerve it must’ve taken to encroach so openly on Flourish and Blotts territory, but found himself grinning broadly at that bit nonetheless.)

That same year, Angela had bought the flat off Diagon they still shared, and for the next decade, they’d continued to revel in being brilliant, testy, and subversive together. Until the young man with the eagle pendant.

“An eagle?” he asked, a ball of ice forming in the pit of his stomach. He shook it off. There were plenty of people with eagle pendants.

“Oh, yes, a lovely bit of work,” she’d answered, and proceeded to describe it. Solid silver, with gold wings always lifted in flight, and freedom in Welsh inscribed on its breast.

“Oh,” was all he’d been able to whisper. 

The man had come in looking for books, saying that he wanted to learn about the Dark. He’d said he had a girl who was working in Knocturn, and was struggling with how to balance their moralities.

After two or three months he’d come into the store, trembling with nervous energy, and said she asked him to marry her, but that he was still conflicted; she’d been seen with Death Eaters, and he was worried she might want to experiment withdarker forms of magic. He’d told Tezlin he’d come to value her opinions and wisdom a great deal over the last few months, and that his own mother wasn’t speaking to him out of opposition to the entire idea of the match. He’d then asked if he could be unbelievably presumptuous and invite her along for Sunday dinner with his fiancé.

“I never got close to clients, but he was so young and scared,” she’d whispered.

They’d gone to Sunday dinner; but there’d been no fiancé; only a masked man, a whispered word, and then glorious, uncaring oblivion.

“Did he want…information from you, about books?” Perhaps she’d been the Dark Lord’s new reference librarian for a time?

“I don’t…remember.” Sweat was pouring down her face, and the muscles in her neck were painfully prominent.

“That’s fine,” he said hastily. “What else happened?” If he could divert the Veritaserum, he reasoned, it might not interfere with the Memory Charm Mulciber had obviously put on her.

He’d known by the glassy look in her eyes that he’d been far too late. A question was asked, and the truth would be found.

Haltingly, with her face losing color with each word, a list of ten or so books emerged. He’d stopped the interrogation, and given her Pepper-Up and gotten her to drink some soup; throughout the rest of it, there was always a refilled glass of juice. And he’d still been terrified that the breaking of the Memory Charm would trigger, for lack of a better term, another stroke, much like throwing off the Imperious had.

Over the next hour or so, he heard and saw the rest of it. The brands on her collarbone and temple, well-hidden with a Glamour Charm, and the descriptions, far more detailed than he ever had wanted, of the starvation and fear. And, of course, Mulciber's other games. With Mary McDonald, there’d been someone to stop him. This time, there hadn’t.

But she was strong, and brave, and brilliant. She’d read about fighting Imperius, and slowly, as the weeks passed, Mulciber’s guard had slackened, and his accomplice had gotten bored and stopped coming at all. And eventually, she’d broken it.  
Her retelling of half hobbling, half crawling, from the flat in to the middle of Knockturn Alley had him standing to exit the room, only to stop a few steps away and Conjure a basin.

He reentered a while later, after trying (probably unsuccessfully) to look presentable again.

Fortunately, that had been the worst of it. Someone had recognized her, and braved the Ministry to take her to St. Mungo's. Elphias Doge, being the sort of man he was, had notified Angela as soon as they identified her. While Angela couldn’t come herself because of the laws about criminals in hospital (she’d very briefly sold Syrup of Oblivion, which contained Class B Non-Tradeable goods), she’d sent her niece.

“I want to get home,” he’d always remember her saying, smile going soft and so very wistful. “I’ve missed her so much.”

He’d convinced her to go back to St. Mungo's for what they’d both thought would be a brief visit, just to ensure that no more damage had been inflicted from fighting the Memory Charm.

“Can you come?” she’d asked. “I don’t want to trouble Juniper; she’s done so much.”

“Yeah,” he’d said, wondering just how many rules he was breaking.

He’d found out, too, as he’d been helping her off the lift in the Atrium.

“Robards? What the hell are you doing?” Finn’s voice had rang, coldly derisive, across the open hall.

“Taking Tezlin Dobrect to hospital, sir,” he’d called back.

“I’m certain one of the Hit Wizards can do that, until they meet her…friend.”

“I want to make sure she’s safe and undamaged, sir.”

“And I want you in my lunch meeting, Robards. And I am your superior, so, unfortunately for you, what I want trumps what you want.”

“You gave me the care and custody of Tezlin Dobrect throughout the interview-“

“Which is now complete.”

“And for whatever time after it took to resolve any unanswered questions.”

“Why are you taking her to Hospital to answer more questions, Robards?” The condescension had given way to genuine puzzlement.

“Because my unanswered question involves Veritaserum and its effects when brought in to contact with a Memory Charm, sir.”

“Do you think you are amusing, Auror?”

“No, sir.”

“Then you must think it amusing to find loopholes in my orders?”

“No, sir.”

“That’s good to hear, Robards. Then I’m sure you’ll be stepping back now, and following me to my office?”

He thought of the eagle Tezlin described, with its gold wings spread in flight; thought of the most probable person it belonged too, and said pleasantly: “No, sir.”

Finn’d stepped forward, reaching out to pull Tezlin’s arm out of his grasp, and his hand had come up instinctively, and knocked Finn’s aside.

“I wonder,” he’d said, barely recognizing his own voice, “If Barty’d like to know what a taste for Ogden’s Old you’ve developed, lately.”

“Gawain, that is enough!” Rufus strode across the atrium like he owned the place, and Gawain could only stand there, hand still raised in midair.

He’d held out an old can. “Here’s a Portkey for you and Miss Dobrect to St. Mungo's. Finn, May I come with you to see Barty? You don’t need to do something like this alone…if you were planning to take this to Barty, of course.”

“What do you think, Rufus?” He’d nodded, and then turned back to Gawain.

“We’ll speak, later,” was all he’d said, but Gawain’d felt as though he were standing in a glacier.

He’d taken Tezlin to hospital, and everything had seemed fine. They’d been curled on the sofa of her room (as she’d been tired of lying down from a week of doing it), waiting for Doge's release orders, when the vomiting had started.

He'd exited the room quickly, then turned back at the door to meet her terrified, pain-filled eyes, and said quietly, “I’ll get Angela here. And I know who I’m looking for. Who Mulciber’s accomplice is.”

Chapter 5

Rufus had found him later, after he’d anonymously owled Angela one of the Invisibility cloaks that were always kept for CIs.

“Would you like to tell me what that was about, earlier?” he asked.

“I know who Mulciber’s accomplice is.”

“Oh, really? And is it Finn, Gawain?”

“No.”

“Then how is that connected to assaulting your superior?”

“I knew he was scum, Mulciber’s accomplice. But I never tried to find him, or track him, because we had history.”

“Friends, or lovers?” There were only two sorts of history that were that strong.

“Can we get a drink?” he’d whispered, “Because you’re going to hate me by the end of this, and I’d really prefer being drunk when you realize you do.”

“Whatever this is about, it does not excuse your conduct earlier today.”

“Oh, I never would’ve guessed,” he’d muttered, utterly exhausted, and wondering how in the hell you broached the school affair that’d very nearly ensured you’d never become an Auror (or much of anything really) to the man who’d trained you for three years against sometimes stiff opposition, to ensure you reached your goal. “Please,” he’d said softly, “I need a drink?”

Rufus’d nodded, and they’d Apparated to the Leaky. And by the third drink, he was finally talking about Liam for the first time in five years.

“He was the same year I was, but in Slytherin,” he started. 

“Why does that sound ominous, I wonder?” The deliberate sarcasm had broken something, and he’d laughed helplessly, only realizing a moment after Rufus passed him a handkerchief he was crying as well.

“Because…it is. If it hadn’t been for Filius───and Da───well-“

“So, who was he?”

“Liam McTavish.”

“Old moneyed pure-blood McTavishes?”

“The very ones.”

“Liam’s favorite subject was Arithmancy.”

“Oh?”

“Particularly how Arithmancy could be used to measure the probabilities of certain people reacting in certain ways to certain actions.”

“Oh, Merlin.”

“For the record, I’d known I swung both ways for a while before Liam and I started getting close. But Hogwarts is so small…”

“Merlin help you if you make an advance to the wrong person.”

“Pretty much. Liam was one of those people you couldn’t help looking at. I know that sounds terribly cliched, and seems like one of the worst excuses in the world. But he moved like he owned the world, and we were just too dense to realize it. Had this long, blonde hair. And I’m not talking Malfoy blonde. It was so bright a yellow I sometimes thought it’d dazzle you in the right light. And he had green eyes that were so dark, they almost looked like wet moss. And just the trace of an Irish accent, when he was riled or excited.”

“Sounds like he’d have jaws on floors.”

“Pretty much. We were in absolutely fierce rivalry for the Head Boy position, or rather Liam was. It seemed illogical to engage in rivalry. Whoever Dumbledore deemed best would gain it, and I didn’t much think he’d approve of cheating. I can’t tell you when everything changed. It was after Easter break of our sixth year, I remember that. We were in Runes, and he passed me this note. I can’t even really describe how astounding this note was.” He quoted from memory:

"Gawain: I don’t actually have the right to call you that, but I will presume, because what I am about to say will seem far more forward than me calling you by your first name. I must talk to you urgently. Might we meet on the grounds?"

“And that didn’t strike you as odd?”

“Of course it did. But, well, it was polite, and he seemed rather frightened or desperate, and I wanted to help-“

“Unsurprising.”

“So, I met him.”

Gawain'd never forget the rough bark ripping at his shirt as Liam had fumbled his robes off while his mouth utterly plundered his own.

“He proceeded too tell me this story. That he’d been watching me for a while and developing…different opinions than his family because of how different I was to every Muggle-born he’d heard of.”

“Of course he was. And I suppose he wanted to move far away with you, too.” Gawain snorted laughter and then stared, shocked.

“How did you do that?” he asked, “Make this all seem rather ridiculous.”

“Because it is ridiculous, Gawain. It’s quite common…oh Gods, you really didn’t know. I’d never thought; you were in Ravenclaw. All of us in Gryffindor warned Muggle-borns and half-bloods about certain Slytherins because they’d make declarations like that and then have their mates hiding in the bushes and make it a laugh…how far did it go?”

“Oh, a hell of a lot further than a declaration. We became lovers. I tried to get him to come stay the summer in Wales, but he kept dithering, kept saying his family would cut him off. I made all sorts of elaborate promises; that I’d become a researcher for Mungo's or one of the Potions’ companies; make loads of money so he’d never have to do anything and could live the way he was accustomed to. He kept weaving the act tighter; kept telling me that he didn’t want me to give up my ambitions of becoming an Auror for him, that this would just have to be something we remembered fondly from school. I was crazy desperate, promised I’d do anything, go anywhere. He kept saying he needed proof. So we started-“ his voice died.

Rufus had Transfigured their chairs into a long booth and then settled back, one arm tight across Gawain’s shoulders.

He’d pressed a sobriety Potion in to Gawain’s hand, the first of several for that night.

“You started doing what?” he’d murmured, so low Gawain knew no one else could hear. “There’re privacy wards around every inch of this booth,” he’d continued, “And I have no reason to share this with anyone…Aurors Oath.”

“Trysts in abandoned classrooms, before curfew, when there were still people wandering about.” Liam’s mouth, hot, wanton, as he’d whispered, “Just think of it. The door creaking open…is that it, now?” He’d laughed as Gawain’d made a noise deep in his throat and then continued, “Creaking open, and all those people staring. Wouldn’t they be shocked?” he’d asked, chuckling against Gawain’s mouth, “To see how wicked I can make you.”

“For a while, I…enjoyed it. It was so foreign, so forbidden.”

“What snapped you out of it?”

“Ever think you have too much faith?”

“You’re sitting here now.” A statement of fact, brusque and no-nonsense.

“Liam got…scarce over the summer. Wrote this one hasty note that said he wanted to write but was scared, and then nothing. I’d scraped together money and gotten him this pendant just before the term ended…done every odd job I could think of, even spent my Hogsmeade weekends helping out with the goats at the Hogs Head to get the money, and that was some of the filthiest, hardest work I’ve ever done, and nearly impossible to get, with Aberforth being so protective. I suppose I wanted…Liam to take risks, too, y’know?”

“One rather would, yes.”

“I was distracted for weeks, worrying. I tried every form of communication I could think of. Finally, I owled Fillius, thinking maybe Liam had sent a letter to him to forward. He sent a response within hours; it got to the farm two days after I wrote, and we were at the back end of nowhere. He told me that no, he hadn’t gotten anything, but that he’d certainly send anything along if he did. Finally, I went to Da, told him what’d happened, more or less. Once I told him Liam was rich, he suggested I take out a subscription to the Prophet, because of the society pages. It became clear, very quickly, that Liam was not mourning my absence. By the time we got back to school, I was devastated, sure, but I was also narcked, and feeling quite the fool, especially when I realized how close I’d come to throwing everything away. The longer I was away from Liam, the clearer my head got, and it started to look suspicious that a boy who hadn’t said two words to me in five years just happened to fall in love the moment I noticed him. He tried to resume things at school; he’d’ve love to see me stripped of my badge. But: I was frightened only serves as an excuse for so long, and I was tired of being made the fool.

After Filius saw me starting to give Liam less and less of my time, he and Slughorn finally decided they could show me the memory one of the loaner Slytherins had brought to Slughorn. You don’t need to know all of it, Rufus, but it was Liam, talking to Mulciber and Avery the first night we’d become lovers. And he had them in gales, absolute gales, with all my declarations. He wore the pendant the rest of the year to mock me, but by then, I didn’t care. I wanted out; out of Ravenclaw, out of Hogwarts. I wanted to learn and experience, so something like this would never happen again.”

“What did he want? To be Head Boy.”

“That’s what I’ve always figured, seeing as it started in sixth. Get me distracted enough, and my marks would fall, or the teachers would get suspicious as to why I was skulking around their classrooms. I knew more warding Spells than Liam, so I was always the one who set up the rendezvous points, though of course I know now the professors could’ve broken my warding easily.” “Liam never did lose easily,” he continued, after draining his glass, “And once I’d become Head Boy, he was sulking too much to bother writing over the summer, and just assumed I’d be waiting.”

“Well, how fortunate he is an idiot.”

“It nearly worked.”

“He underestimated your support network and intelligence, and that makes him an idiot.”

“The man that lured Tezlin in to a trap was wearing the same pendant. I couldn’t leave her alone, knowing he’d played the same sort of game and that’s why she was like that. I just couldn’t.”

“No, no, of course not.” He’d signaled to Tom for another glass, and when one of the barmaids had brought it over, he’d looked at Gawain seriously for a long while.

“Can you go after McTavish and keep things legal?”

“Yes,” he’d said, immediately, not even needing to consider. “I won’t…I can’t…sink to his level.”

“To an Auror I’m proud to have trained,” he said finally, “And a friend it’s an honor to have.” His glass chinked against Gawain’s as he sat frozen with shock.

“I just told you I spent-“

“You had a two or three month fling when you were sixteen. You didn’t become a Death Eater. You didn’t let it affect your daily life in any way I can see. You made a mistake, Gawain. Every person is entitled to at least one between their fifth and seventh years. Now, drink your Whiskey.”

Chapter 6

He’d certainly drank, far too much, if truth be told. That’d been clear when he and Rufus had stumbled in to the flat.

“Well, which pub were you at?” Elayne'd asked, coldly. “I’ve been checking every hour to see if you were on the Ministry’s injured rosters.”

“Today was difficult at work,” Rufus had attempted to explain.

“It’s the anniversary of us moving in together. Did you remember that, Gawain?” He’d blinked fuzzily, not sure his tongue could form words, much less sentences. The aroma of chicken and potatoes was drifting toward him now…and if he wasn’t mistaken, strawberry pie. “Does that mean yes or no?”

“Elayne, things were unspeakably difficult.”

“Shut the hell up, Rufus.”

“But if you would simply-“

“I’ve sat here, all night, knowing you could be dead or tortured or Imperiused. And instead, you were at a bar? On our anniversary?”

“If Gawain had remembered-“

“The Death Eaters have taken so much away. Gawain thinks I don’t know, but I do. I can read between the lines. So, I understand being preoccupied; I understand working long hours. But I will not stay with someone who is so consumed by the Death Eaters there’s room for nothing else. I won’t stay with someone whose so consumed by his work he can never put it aside, who’d rather get drunk with another workaholic than come and talk to me. He says he wants to marry me, but it’s you he talks too, Rufus. So,” she’d whirled, snatching her cloak from a peg as her red hair had flared behind her.

“Since you’re the one he’d prefer to spend his time with, and who got him in this state, you can take care of him.” He’d tried to reach out and stop her, and she’d shaken him off. “When you’re sober,” she’d said, and he could hear the tears in her voice, “Come and talk to me. Perhaps you can manage a proper apology for missing our anniversary then.”  
Aurors Fest Fic Chunk 3

Chapter 7

He shook off his memories as he stepped in to the kitchen to the sight of coffee and toast and strawberries. Rufus’s favorite maxum had particular meaning, today: There’s no way to undo the past; all one can do is continue fighting, and hope to cancel out the mistakes along the way.

They kept the conversation light, running the gambit from the Magpies chances against the Harpeys (the Harpeys had dramatically improved their game since last season, and the magpies were fools if they believed they weren’t going to be trounced, as far as both of them were concerned) to Millicent’s annual summer ball (the location was excellent, but couldn’t make up for the company) and his shoulders were relaxed by the time they rose to enter the Floo. By the time he reached Barty’s door, his smile was even genuine.

He tapped twice, and heard the scurrying of footsteps, followed an instant later by Weatherby throwing open the door of the outer office with one hand, while frantically motioning him inside with the other. “He and Miss Winthrop are waiting for you, sir!” 

What the hell was Elayne doing here? “Thanks, Weatherby.”

“No trouble, sir. Running a bit behind sir, but I’ll be back with a coffee tray on the double, sir.”

“Relax-“

“Mr. Crouch expects a certain standard, sir, and has every reason to do so. It was my lapse, and it won’t happen again.”

“I’ll be sure to let him know.” Merlin, he could never work with assistants who were that cringingly fawning. Or just plain terrified; Gawain could never tell, with Weatherby.

He strode to the door of the inner sanctum, pushing it open before his knock had even finished echoing. If he didn’t give himself time to think, he wouldn’t have time to bolt. It would be interesting, trying to explain to a man as staunchly dedicated to duty as Barty why he’d run like a hare at the sight of a fox when he knew his fiance was inside.

Elayne and Barty were sitting at a Conjured table. They were staring out at the fake sunshine as they sipped some sort of liquid. Poor Weatherby; it looked like Elayne had been her usual self, and filled the breech quite nicely.

She’d painted her nails since yesterday; a bright, cherry-red. Merlin, wasn’t her hair bright enough? And messy, too, he thought with a grin as he saw another tendril escape her careless braid. Her eye-liner had been charmed to change color, flashing from black to red to pink in such a dizzying whirl he could barely focus on her face.

“So, it changes according to mood?” Crouch inquired, gesturing at her face, mouth tight with irritation.

“Yes.” She sounded as authoritative and unruffled as ever. “I understand you’re not inclined to take my line of work seriously-“

“Every Department within this institution has its uses.”

“Oh, so we can expect a budget increase, if you’re elected Minister?” she inquired, archly.

“Funds will need to be carefully allocated to the war effort.”

“With all due respect, sir, it might interest you to know precisely what this-“ she gestured casually at the shifting colors that framed her eyes, “Is used for.”

“And that would be, Miss Winthrop?”

“The Healers at St. Mungos that work primarily with children are using it as a gauge of their level of trauma while they’re being questioned about injuries. Particularly those gained in Death Eater attacks. I’m also working on some that’s Charmed to shift shades, according to the pallour of the person it’s applied too. So the contrast isn’t so sharp between the complexion and the makeup for those who are ill, sir.”

“And is it progressing well?” Genuine interest, for the first time, and Gawain realized he was thinking of his wife.

“Yes, it is.”

“You’ll provide me a list of what you have available by tea,” he said, curtly.

“Of course, if that’s something you’d like to see.”

“If it was not, I would not have asked.”

Gawain cleared his throat, and Elayne’s eyes flashed up, quick and greatful, and then she was standing and moving toward him. “I realize this is highly irregular, Mr. Crouch. However, I would very much appreciate a moment alone with my fiance.”

“There should be no one but Weatherby in the outer office. Make it quick, if you please.”

“Unbearable, puffed up autocrat,” she whispered, once the door to his private office was safely closed behind them, and a quick check of the outer revealed poor Weatherby was still on his quest to uphold standards.

“He’s just organized and efficient and-“

“Be quiet,” she said, softly, pressing the tip of a finger to his lips. “Rufus came and found me at the Leaky last night, after you were asleep.”

“But he stayed all night.”

“Yes, he told me he was heading back. He told me about Tezlin, and a bit of your conversation from afterwords, though he wouldn’t give any real details. Said it wasn’t his to reveal.”

“Rufus does have some good qualities,” he said, irritably. “I’d think you’d see that after us being together for over a year.”

“Oh, I do. They’re just as rare as four leaf clovers.”

“I knew you were someone special when I realized you knew what those were,” he said, softly.

“You’ve said.” She tilted up, and suddenly, her mouth was against his, soft and warm, tasting of cherries. “I was angry last night. I had an experiment I desperately wanted to finish. But I put it off. To be domestic. Because I knew you always thought it a treat when I cooked. I made three pies before one came out half decent. And then, you never came home.”

“I’m so sorry,” he whispered, voice rough. “Elayne…Merlin, I still don’t know if I can explain. She was so special, Tezlin, I mean and…”

“I’m finally going to be able to share why I’ve been so quiet for so long.” He started, surprised.

“I thought you said it was classified.” Not that hestill wasn’t puzzled about what could possibly come out of Experimental Charms warranting that status; but rules were rules, and he’d refrained from asking.

“It is, or was. But Mr. Crouch has decided you can use it to go after whoever your next target is.”

“I have a new target?” How did she know this before he did?

“You do. Whoever you suspect from the Dobrect interview.”

“Rufus wasn’t just asking idol questions last night about me being able to go after him and keep it legal?””

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she murmured, trying to pull away, and he realized he’d gripped her shoulders in his excitement.

“Nothing, nothing, just-“ he trailed off.

“If I’m going to share, I think it’s only fair you do the same. I think your fiance really should know what your best mate does. If-“ and he heard the uncertainty in her voice now, “You still want me as your fiance.”

“I’m the one who missed my anniversary. Shouldn’t I be asking that?”

“And I’m the one who should’ve known you better, after all this time. For you to miss something that important…I’m so, so sorry for whatever happened yesterday, because it must’ve been awful. And for this Liam, whoever he is, cropping up again, because he sounds a real treat.”

“Oh, he is, with cherries on top.”

“I love you, Gawain.”

“All’s well and forgiven?” he asked, quietly, not wanting anything hanging between them.

“On one condition,” she said, catching her bottom lip between her teeth and nibbling.

“What would that be?” he asked, carefully, fear rising despite himself.

“You cook anniversary dinner next time.” He laughed, helplessly.

“Bargain,” he said, relieved. “And…I committed us to something, before we fought yesterday. I can cancel it, if you like, but-“

“What have you gone and done this time, Sir Gawain?”

“It’s not so much gallant as kind, which I actually think was more Gallahad’s forte.”

“Well, they always were close, in the tales…Gawain and Gallahad, I mean.”

“I offered to take the Lawrence kids for the weekend.”

“Of course we will. Is the poor man doing any better?”

“Not…really. He’s trying, but…”

“You can’t put the apples back in the basket once they’ve spilled?”

“Essentially.”

She leaned up, kissing him once more lightly on the cheek, and then hurried back to Crouch’s door.

Once they were all seated again, Mr. Crouch said: “Miss Winthrop has been developing a new kind of Tracking Charm. After it has been placed on the subjects’ skin, it blends with their Magical Signature.”

“All the Spells designed to remove Tracking Charms are designed to find foreign Magical Signatures and eradicate them,” he breathed, staring at Elayne in something like awe.

“I got the idea from you, truth be told, with how much you’ve complained about Tracking being damn near impossible. It’s taken me nearly half a year to develop, with all the other things I’ve been working on.”

One did not kiss one’s fiance in front of Mr. Crouch; one simply did not. But Merlin… “You were right, the very first time we met. Experimental Charms can do more than butterflies and rainbows. I went to Imelda. She wouldn’t listen to me. So, I cornered Mr. Crouch at the last Christmas party. He was very gracious, and agreed to talk work.”

“Her proposal was highly interesting. And Johanna was fascinated by the Illusions on her dress.”

“Please tell her Monday tea’s still definitely on for this week?” Elayne asked, and he saw Mr. Crouch smile for the first time all day.

“She will be quite pleased.”

“She’s amazingly brilliant. You should thank her; it was as much her thoughts as anything else that helped to crystallize the Tracking Charm.”

“Yes…yes. Dinner and a show, perhaps? Mr and Mrs. Fudge gave us those tickets for next week…”

“I’ll have the makeup done by then. She’ll look lovely.”

How had Elayne managed to develop a better repore with Barty Crouch than him, when he worked under the man? He pulled his mind sharply back to the conversation at her next words.

“So, I’ll need to scry Gawain and Mr. McTavish, since he’ll be the first person we’ve tested it on for a long period of time…we know it works, but not if it sticks,” she said, at Gawain’s arched brow.

“Elayne, there are things I have to do as a CI that-“

“One understands your reluctance to mix your personal and professional lives, Robards. But duty must.”

“But, sir-“

“I’ll have Kingsley, for moral support.” The one colleague she actually liked. And thank Merlin, because for a while there, he’d begun to think she was determined to hate everyone he worked with. “He’s agreed to be present, and put things in perspective for me.”

“But-“

“And of course, if you talk to me, instead of telling Rufus everything, I’ll have even better context,” she said, lightly.

“Once we have Mr. McTavish in custody, and his guilt can be proven, we will offer to reduce his sentence, in exchange for his voluntarily leading us to Mulciber.”

“The Tracking Charm will hold that long?”

“Yes…if it holds through your encounter, I think it will. I’ll need you to get a bit of his hair or something I can have the people in Experimental Potions try that new brew that extracts Magical Signatures on. Once we have a completed brew, meaning it’ll retain his signature-“

“Like Polyjuice does?” he asked, to ensure he was keeping up with her torrential flow of words.

“Dead on. Anyway, once I have that, I’ll pour it on a Portkey you’ll have him touch once you put the Charm on him-“

“Wait, I don’t quite follow. Will the Portkey be activated?”

“No, no. It’ll just be a scrap of parchment…even a bar napkin. Just bring it home with you, after he’s touched it. I’ll pour the Potion on. Magical Transport will make it a Portkey, and we’ll have a way to get to him, wherever he is.”

“Are your orders clear, Robards?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Can you carry them out?”

“It’ll be delicate-“

“Can you, or can you not, carry them out?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Excellent. Miss Winthrop, I will see you for Monday tea, if I am home by then. Robards, I scheduled the meeting until lunch. Use the time to refine the plan with Miss Winthrop…both of you are dismissed. Send Weatherby in on your way out, if you would.”

^^^

He closed the door of one of the small well-warded rooms reserved for planning sensitive operations behind him. They should talk, refine the plan as they were instructed. But there were more important things to convey than strategies.

“Elayne, you have to be careful.”

“Gawain-“

“For Merlin’s sake, listen to me. Please? Eventually, they’re going to discover who did this, and you’re going to be a target. We know there are infiltraters within the Ministry; we know who some of them are, and we can feed them false information. But we don’t know who all of them are, and eventually…”

“Do you think Crouch hasn’t told me all this?”

“Elayne, you still forget to ward the door of your lab at home when you’re experimenting.”

“And you take some kind of perverse pleasure in throwing it open and frightening me to death,” she chuckled.

“Well, obviously it doesn’t work very well, since it keeps happening.”

“Ever thought I just like seeing you fierce and protective?”

He rolled his eyes, half frustrated, and half amused. “Cariad, you have to stop experimenting when you’re alone. Stay late at the office, if you want to work. There are always people there.”

“I want to be waiting when you get home. I don’t want to change everything because of the Death Eaters. I hate how they pervade everything!”

“Shhhh, don’t cry. I know you hate security measures, and I know you think they’re stupid-“

“And paranoid,” she sniffled.

“Paranoid, too,” he agreed. “But Elayne, I can’t have it be you, I can’t. I can’t be John Lawrence or angela Treadwillow. If anything happened to you or Rufus…Merlin, I can’t be the one who survives alone. I need the two of you too much. This war will be over, eventually, I promise. And then you can relax, a bit. But there are always going to be Dark Wizards, and I’m an Auror. That means they’ll always be likely to go after you to a degree. If I thought you were dead because you married me-“

“Like you’re afraid your Mum will be because she birthed you. Never mind that cutting ties with your family was ridiculous and cruel-“

“They’re Muggles,” he said, softly. “They couldn’t even defend themselves.”

“And they have the right to make a choice as to whether that’s the most important thing for them. Just as I have a right, Gawain, to decide whether safety is important enough to hedge myself round with restrictions. You know how delicate some of my Charms work is; Fillius has explained it to you enough times. I know you think simple Wards wouldn’t hurt anything, but I don’t agree, and I’m the expert, at least in Charms. And I won’t be denied the pleasure of working in my own flat, while I wait for my fiance to come home. I just won’t, Gawain. I love you, and the last thing I want is to frighten you, but I’m tired of having this conversation.”

“Then you need a bodyguard.”

“So Crouch informed me.” Her eyes were positively sparking. “Why do you think Kingsley will be there for your assignment?”

“He assigned you Kingsley?”

“He was the only one I’ would agree too,” she said, tartly. “He’ll pick me up from the office, and wait at the flat until you get home. I presume that while you’re on deep cover, he’ll be living there, too. Fortunately, when you’ll be coming home, he’ll leave, once you’re there.”

“And you agreed to all this?”

“I was informed all my work would be discarded, and it wouldn’t be discussed again until I was more prepared to take precautions, considering the dangersurrounding this endeavor.”

“I’m…sorry.”

“No, you’re not. But you will be, if you keep harping at me about protective measures, after I’ve already agreed to ridiculous ones from Crouch.”

“I’m sorry you feel hemmed in,” he amended. “We can try Sparring again.”

“No, we can not. I’m not a duelist, and I’m smart enough to know it. I was sore for days after your “easy” workout, with you putting me on my arse so much. I don’t have the instincts for it.”

“I’ll be home, more. Rufus can come have dinner at our place, if he wants company.”

“Or eat alone,” she muttered, but she was smiling.

She traced a finger along his cheek, sobering. “Love, tell me about yesterday?”

“I interviewed Tezlin Dobrect, and she died. It was my fault, and I don’t know how I’ll ever have absolution.” She looked at him, finger still tracing his face, and then slowly undid her braid, wrapping him in the scent of apricots.

“I’m going to need more than that, love.”

“I know.”

“We’ve got until lunch,” she said, tugging at his hair gently until his head rested on her shoulder. “Start from the beginning?”

“Finn is a bastard.”

“And?”

The words flowed, haultingly, and afterwords, they sat, and said nothing for a long time, while her hands ran through his hair, and her mouth feathered kisses from his wet lashes along his cheeks.

Chapter 8

Three weeks later, he was sitting on a barstool at The Boar’s Wife. He couldn’t quite believe Liam would let himself be found in a place as crude as this, with its rough wooden tables and raucous patrons. 

But after waffling, and canceling once, he’d finally agreed to meet “Travis” here. Gawain’d considered several personas, but Travis really was the best fit, even if he did spook Liam a fair bit.

Not that Liam being spooked was a bad thing, with how elusive he’d been to find. He’d spent the better part of the past few weeks in pubs, tracking every rumor that might hint at Liam’s whereabouts and then doing whatever was necessary to get other patrons to be forthcoming. He’d bought enough Firewhiskey and ale to float a steamer, and too much of it had gone down his own throat.

But, he’d finally tracked down a man who’d done work for Liam before, and had been dismissed for unreliability. No wonder, as he was a drunk; Gawain was puzzled as to why he’d been hired in the first place, until he remembered Liam had probably based it on his probability to keep silent. Which had been quite high; he could hold his liquor. But his probability of passing messages for money was also high, and eventually, Liam’d realized one of the worst men in the Alley wanted a chat.

The man on the stool next to him reached out, ripping a barmaid’s shirt, and pinching her nipple until she whimpered, and his hand shot out, encircling the man’s wrist before he thought. It was the rough bristle of beard he saw in the mirror above the bar as the man cried out that reminded him.

This was not Gawain Robards, with his clean-shaven cheeks and crisp Auror robes. This was Travis McCloud, with his filthy, work-roughened hands, and a reputation for being up for any work, no matter how dirty, if it paid well enough.

This was one of the worst of the personas he’d pain-steakingly created over the past few years, and he wasn’t worth losing over a brawl. But Merlin, she looked so frightened.

“You and your hands’d best not make my drink take longer than usual in here. Merlin’s balls, it takes long enough to start.”

McCloud’s voice was always the hardest, both to adopt, and to become accustomed too. Rough, with an accent that’d made Rufus squint dubiously at him, once he’d finally perfected it, and ask: “How in Merlin’s name can you manage that? And how will they understand you?”

The understanding bit was easy; it was the usual accent for the worst of Nocturn. The managing bit…that was trickier. Polyjuice would’ve been ideal. But a supply of hair eventually ran out, which made it impractical for a long-running persona. So, he wore a Disguise Amulet, glammored to look like one of the run of the mill protective ones sold in Knocturn (which usually didn’t protect from a damn beesting, much less anything worse). That took care of the physical side of things. The best Disguise Amulets could last for weeks. So, there was no running out after an hour, which was always a risk if you were forgetful with Polyjuice; the best Disguise Amulets could last for weeks.

As for the voice, it was a constant struggle not to slip.

“Your drink, sir.” The barmaid flinched away from his outstretched hand, and he had to stretch it out again before she realized he was giving her money.

“New here, aren’t you?” She had a collection of bruises from too-rough customers; the older ones learned to use Glamor Charms to hide them.

She nodded, jerkily.

“Work somewhere else; you’re slow as an erumpent.”

“No where else to work,” she said, with some heat, “And I’d be faster if people didn’t think I could talk from dusk to moonrise with every one of ‘em.”

Merlin, she was too good for a place like this. He shoved more money at her.

“I’ll be seein a man here soon; keep the drinks comin’ ‘till we leave.”

“You drinkin the entire stock?” she asked, looking down at the money.

“No. Men don’t like seein other men’s marks. Buy somethin’ to cover them.” If she wasn’t bruised, she’d look experienced, and the experienced ones tended to know that the barkeep kept anyone willing to work in this hellhole, and told the men when they’d had enough. And the men knew it.

“That’s hard to do when you’ve a baby and a man no where to be found. Not that you’d give a damn.”

He jerked a shoulder and pulled her closer until she fell against his stool, claiming a quick, sloppy kiss. Merlin, he hadn’t been here fifteen minutes and he already felt filthy. But happy customers were generous customers, and if he seemed happy, the barkeep wouldn’t hurt her for being slow, or try and take the money he’d given her.

“There’re Places for brats,” a man down the bar called, “A woman alone can do better.”

“Shut your gob. She weren’t talkin’ to you.” There were advantages to being a feared bastard with a legendary temper, he thought, suppressing a grin as the man imitated a stone.

“Everybody says you won’t touch the stew,” she said, softly, “But there’s bread, fresh. I made it myself.”

“Yeah, I’ll have a slice.” If he praised it enough, maybe the barkeep would move her to the kitchens full-time. If it was good, that was. The customers started getting worse food than usual once she was moved, and she’d have a killing Curse thrown her way within a month. She nodded, and moved away, trying for sultry and brave, and just managing young.

“You’re feeling charitable today, aren’t you, Travis?” Liam, and the Irish was on strong; he supposed he wanted to blend in.

Gawain suppressed a derisive sound. With his waistcoat and crisply starched shirt, not to mention his tailored robes, he stuck out worse than anyone Gawain had ever seen. And he’d seen some real dandies in here, or at least men that fancied themselves dandies.

“And?”

“Just a comment. They tell me you’re not much of one for those sorts of displays.”

“Gets me better drinks, faster, with the younger ones.”

“Always a desireable thing…yes, thank you,” he smiled at the barmaid, and she fluttered her lashes.

No, you utter shite, you are not going to sit here and get Mulciber another target. “I’ve better things to do than watch you flirt with maids. You canceled a meeting with me, once. Now you plannin to waste my time?”

“I apologize for canceling, though you must admit you contacted me rather suddenly. I’m a man with many commitments, many irons in the fire, as it were. And I fail to see exactly what I can do for you.”

“You were seen with that bint. The one owned the bookshop.”

“Tezlin?”

“Yeah.”

“You disliked her?”

“Bloody odd bird, actin like just ‘cause she lived with someone dark, she knew us!” He made his voice derisive, and made himself forget holding Angela after the funeral just a fortnight ago, and explaining how Tezlin had given them a lead on someone who could lead them to Mulciber.

“What does that matter to me?” she’d asked, bitterly. I’m alone,” she’d whispered. “Do you know how much it hurts to be alone, what I’d do for the sound of her voice? Do you have any idea?”

“She could certainly get on a high horse on occasion, couldn’t she?” Liam chuckled, and he forced himself to guffaugh.

“One way to put it, I guess.”

”Well, I understand why you’re glad she’s gone, but-“

“But how’d she go?”

“Don’t you read the papers, man? Died, at St. Mungos, after getting snagged by the Ministry. I suppose they were too rough in interrogation. It isn’t an uncommon occurrence. A man like you should know that.” 

Gawain rolled up his sleeve to display a jagged scar.

“Used a knife on me once. Tried to scare me.”

“And did it work?” Liam asked, staring at the awful, puckered thing as though entranced.

“Do I look like I scare easy?”

“No, you really don’t.”

“You were clever, takin’ her out. I could never find a way, but you could. Man like you’d have other clever ideas.”

“So, you’re low on work, Travis?” Liam relaxed, and Gawain suppressed a grin. Liam was lucky he was dealing with him; Mulciber must not’ve taught him much, because that grin, half honey-sweet false sympathy and half badly disguised gloating that he’d pegged his motives would have had half the men there knocking his teeth out, and the other half walking out in disgust.

“Somethin’ like that.”

“Well, I prefer to work alone.”

“Yeah, for now, but you’ll need help.”

“Yes, well, not now.” He stood, and Gawain grabbed his wrist, hard.

“You think you can just walk away from me? I called this meeting, not you.” He pushed Liam back on the stool, and saw a flash of desire.

Liam always had liked a bit of the forbidden, and no working man had probably ever dared to touch him, much less put him in his place.

“No, no, man. I was just going to see where…finally, there’s the barmaid.”

“I hope you like it,” she said, as she set a steaming loaf of bread in front of him that actually smelled…good. Her mouth trembled, and he knew she’d taken so long listening to gossip about him, and was now badly frightened.

“Looks like this one wants to make somethin’ of herself, and can do it, too,” he called to the room at large, as he held up a large slice of bread. The men at the bar leaned forward to get a sniff, and he saw the surprised grins and heard the calls for loaves of their own. He took a hardy bite, after smearing the slice with a lake of butter, and continued, more softly to Liam, spraying crumbs all over his fine shirt all the while.

“Tha’s good. Now, you’ll need help-“

Liam leaned over, his hair tickling Gawain’s ear as his cologne did his nose. It was the same thing he’d worn at school, Gawain thought, dizzily. Sandalwood and citress, and he still smelled divine.

“I was abrupt with you, Travis. But there’s a good reason for that. I don’t exactly work alone.”

“Oh?”

“’I have a mate. But he’s dangerous, Travis, and isn’t pleased when he gets something he doesn’t like. He’s been reluctant to bring anyone else in. And he has a temper. Most people are frightened of him.”

“Like I said, do I look like I scare easy?”

“No, you don’t. You look like you have good contacts and…unique skills.” Liam tried a tentatively flirtatious little smile.

No wonder you like Arithmancy, Gawain thought, being so predictable yourself.

“Wouldn’t want those skills to be skills your mate already had,” he said low, as he raised his glass of whiskey. He took a long, slow sip, letting his eyes close and a sound of pleasure rumble up from the back of his throat as it burned on the way down.

“Skills can be…shared,” Liam whispered, as he watched him lick drops of whiskey from his beard with rough, quick strokes of his tongue.

“I don’t share.”

“But I can. And my mate did come first.”

“So, what’s your mate do?” he asked, seemingly entranced by the sweep of Liam’s lashes across his cheekbones.

“Ever heard of the Dark Lord?”

“You stupid or you think I am? We’ve all heard of the Dark Lord.”

“No, no, Travis. I didn’t mean to offend you.” Liam’s smile was as bright and captivating as ever, and his hand was gentle, almost soothing, on Gawain’s wrist. He let his eyes close, because Travis would. Travis would rarely, if ever, have been touched like that. Or would he? Gawain’s head spun, trying to think back over his time as Travis, to plot a strategy, even as Liam’s hand rested on his wrist, and his scent surrounded him.

Gawain Rufus’s voice was like a knife through the haze, and he blinked, slowly, and then sent a Speaking Spell back.

He showed. We’re talking. Keep calling every few minutes…please?

Are you all right, Gawain?

I will be, if you just keep calling.

“Travis…Travis?”

“Yeah,” he muttered, roughly, and Liam smiled.

“You were a thousand miles away for a while there.”

“Yeah…I’ll stay, I guess.”

“Oh, good. I hoped you would. Me mouth runs away with me sometimes. That’s usually why my mate comes to these meetings, but since you requested me especially-“

“Don’t know who your mate is to request him, do I?”

“No, I suppose you don’t. My mate’s one of the men who works directly for the Dark Lord.”

“And the Dark Lord let him take out the bint?”

“After he’d gotten some useful things from her.”

“Didn’t do a good job, if she got snagged by the Ministry.”

“Well,” Liam confided, “Actually, it was me who didn’t do very well. I didn’t watch her as closely as I should have, and he fell asleep and-“

“She scarpered.”

“Exactly. Can’t imagine how he slept through it, but that’s here nor there, I suppose. The Dark Lord’s certainly not pleased with him, and he’s not pleased with me.”

“So you’re not gettin’ everythin’ you need.” He ran a thumb across the palm of Liam’s hand, which had moved from his wrist to resting, palm-up, on the bar.

“You’re subtle, too?” Had he actually believed that surprise was attractive, once? He was like a child, opening a toy.

He’d seen genuine surprise since then, that was tinged with respect, and not greed.

He shrugged, but Liam was grinning. “You understand me exactly, Travis. You’re certainly not what I expected. I expected…well, a roudy, not to put too fine a point on it.

You’d’ve been wrong, Liam, he thought, even if I weren’t who I am, Liam. People without some subtlety, even if they hid it well, didn’t survive long in this part of the Alley.

“I kept telling my mate we needed to recruit another guard, but he wanted someone with subtlety.” -And you to do your job, maybe?-

“You should suit wonderfully, if you’re still interested?”

“Interested, yeah. I won’t agree ‘till I hear about the bookshop owner, and what sort of work I’d be doin’.” He stood, and Liam gaped.

“Of course. Sit down, and I’ll tell you.”

“Places to be. You were late.”

“Only by five minutes…all right, maybe ten,” he said, with a little self-depricating chuckle, “But-“

He fished around in a pocket of his cloak, and came up with a bit of parchment with the address of one of his false residences. “Floo here tomorrow morning,” he said, briskly. “We’ll talk.”

“But-“

“I set up meetings, not you.”

He snatched back the card, touching it as little as possible with the tips of his fingers, and then remembered the other thing Elayne had wanted. Hair, or skin. 

“But-“ Liam was leaning toward him, and Gawain had an idea. He tugged Liam forward and whispered, roughly: “But, nothin’.”

He pushed him back roughly, and if his hand happened to stay wrapped around a few strands of hair…well, that was the price for tangling with Knocturn men.

“I am beginning to seriously reconsider the wisdom of hiring you. You very well may not get a call from me, and I’ll certainly be telling people-“ Gawain opened the door, barely listening, and heard another of the men give a great belly laugh.

“That’s Travis. Didn’t know what you were getting, shouldn’t have come. He’s a man with goals, he is.”

^^^

Rufus was waiting at Fortescue’s. He banished the card to him, and Rufus summoned the strands of hair (if he tried to pick them up, he’d scatter them everywhere; it’d been hard enough to get them in his pocket), grinning.

“I’ll take these to Elayne. She’s still at the office, with Kingsley, waiting for you. Put your memory in a vile, and I’ll see it’s delivered to Barty Crouch. That was one of the fastest contacts I’ve ever seen you make. I was about to call again, and there you were.”

“I didn’t want to stay there any longer than necessary.”

“Are you-“

“I’m fine, just…filthy, but then, I always am, after being Travis.”

“You’re good, Gawain. Very good.”

“I’d be dead, if I wasn’t. Be careful, taking those back?”

“Of course. You’ll follow, once you’ve showered. Crouch will want to see you.” He nodded. Even after stripping off the Disguise Amulet, he usually found himself in desperate need of a shower; there was something about the water pouring across his skin, about scrubbing until he was sore and pink, that grounded him, reminded him he was better than the scum he’d just pretended to be.

Chapter 9

 

He’d never know exactly what happened, except that the next afternoon, he heard Liam screaming as he came out of a court case. He was in a half-decent mood, before Liam started, too. They’d convicted the poison Brewers by a wide margin, and Dumbledore’d even made mention of how many people were being apprehended by the CIs.

And then: “You can not do this. My father will take extreme retribution for this. I wish to know who accused me.”

“You weren’t accused, Mr. McTavish. One of the Aurors discovered you engaged in illegal activity.”

“Who, I want to know who, you stupid bitch.”

Gawain’d come to the half-open door, and stood, framed in the harsh light of the interrogation room, furious.

“You do not call the Deputy Head Of Magical Law a bitch,” he said, softly. Liam stared at him. “Do you remember the edict Barty Crouch passed, Liam, authorizing the Aurors to use Unforgiveables. You read it in the paper, I’m certain?” There was no answer, so he continued, letting his wand peek from the holster at his wrist. “You do not call her that. It’s rude, and it will have consequences. Do you understand me?”

“You’re mad,” he’d croaked, but there’d been no more names directed Amelia’s way.

“Auror Robards will be joining Auror Scrimgeour and I for your interrogation.” She sent him a quick Speaking Spell a moment later, and he understood.

Much as I disapprove of your methods a moment ago, and make no mistake, Auror, I do disapprove…you seem to frighten him far more effectively than I. You and Scrimgeour can frighten him, while I’m fair and sympathetic.

Suddenly, Finn’s voice came from the hallway, and there was a tightness that almost spoke of fear. “Robards, a moment of your time?”

There’d been words with Barty, about his treatment of Finn, and while he’d been given the McTavish case (mostly because he, having been on close terms with Liam could predict him better than anyone else) he’d been allowed to take no other cases, with the drought showing no signs of abaiting. Perhaps he and Finn could begin to mend fences.

“Of course, sir,” he said, after looking quickly to Amelia.

They moved down the hall in silence. Only when Finn’s office door was closed and he’d erected enough privacy wards the air was bristling did he begin.

“McTavish was brought in this morning, Robards. While you were testifying.”

“I’d assumed, sir.”

“His father just left my office.” Finn cleared his throat, mopping at the sweat that had appeared on his forehead.

“Are you all right, sir.”

“No, Robards.” “I am not all right,” he continued, after a moment in which Gawain had fumbled desperately for something to say, “Because neither you, Barty Crouch, Elayne Winthrop, or Rufus thought it necessary to reveal your relationship with Mr. McTavish…Liam, not Philip.”

“I-“

“Philip McTavish brought this.” He held out several rolls of parchment, glittering with Truth Ink.”This documents your relationship, as perceived by Mr. McTavish, with Liam in your sixth year.”

“Sir, I understand this may have come as a shock, but I’m certainly not involved with Liam now-“

“According to Mr. McTavish, you very nearly got Liam in to serious trouble for trists in classrooms outside of curfew.”

“Those trists were Liam’s idea. And if we stayed after curfew, Merlin knows Liam never complained.”

“But, because you agreed to them-“

“And Detention is not serious trouble, well, not in the scheme of things, and that’s what we would have gotten.”

“Robards, do not interrupt me again.”

“Because you agreed to them, and they could have gotten McTavish in to trouble, by Philip McxTavish’s truth, you were the cause. Truth Ink is much like Veritaserum; it can’t register objective truth, only what we know to be true. Furthermore, he says that you willfully seduced his son to humiliate him and leave him penniless.”

“He can’t be that bigoted. Finn, I didn’t seduce Liam.”

“Rufus and Fillius Flitwick have both made me aware of the fact.”

“Fillius?”

“When Rufus began to think I found the story less than plausible, he called Fillius.”

“Oh.”

“However, what I and you are aware of is quite different than what the Wizengamot will see, if Mr. McTavish proceeds on his current course.”

“What?”

“They will see Mr. McTavish’s parchments, here. And then, Rufus will be forced to hand over the memory of your meeting outside Fortescue’s. That will lead, inevitably, to Barty Crouch being required to hand over the memory of your performanceas Travis.”

“I did nothing outside the CI code, sir.”

“No, you didn’t,” Finn admitted, after a while. “Robards, let’s get something straight between us. I don’t like you; never have, never will. But I’ll be the first to admit that what Philip McTavish is trying to aledge is a pile of Hipogriff shit.”

Gawain gaped for a moment, and Finn let out a chuckle, settling behind his desk, and gestured for Gawain to take the chair across across from him. “You’re a good actor, Robards. Convincing, and thorough. What Philip McTavish will say is that you were bitter about his son cottoning on to your tricks, and were simply waiting for the prime opportunity to get revenge. So, you used a persona to entrap Liam in to telling you lies because you knew he would wish to impress the persona.”

“And what about the fact that Liam is wearing, at this moment, the exact replica of the pendant Tezlin described? I suppose I went out and had a replica made in the intervening weeks? And why was he even attracted to scum like Travis, or in a Kocturn pub?””

“The Defense would certainly bring all those things up. Let me finish, if you would, Robards, and then you can ask questions. You entrapped Liam, and then you revealed your sad tale to Rufus, who agreed to help you.”

“Because I’m a good actor, or bisexual?” he asked, beginning to have an inkling of where Finn was heading with this.

“That will be left for the Wizengamot to speculate on, if I’m any judge. But, it will be mentioned that the two of you are very, very close, and are often seen in close physical proximity.”

“For Merlin’s sake, he’s a friend! Can I not touch a friend because I happen to desire men? No one tells you you can’t give your secretary a hug, just because you go for women.”

“I know that, Robards, so stop getting in a twist.”

“So, he’ll be seen as someone who through a man in jail for a shag.”

“The Defense will refute it.”

“Can we win?”

“In the Wizengamot, perhaps, if McTavish can’t scrape up enough for bribes.”

“Then everything’s settled. To keep McTavish imprisoned, to maybe catch Mulciber…I’ll provide the memories, Finn. I’ll testify under Veritaserum, if that’s what they want. I’ve never been someone whose plastered my sexuality everywhere, but I’ve never hidden it, either. If McTavish wants to play this game, I can play; I don’t have ambitions to rise any higher than Head of Aurors, and all the Aurors already know.”

“No, you don’t have ambitions,” Finn said, softly, almost musingly. “But Rufus does. The Wizarding World’s come a long way, when it comes to two men, or two women. The two of you just happening to sleep together really wouldn’t mean a thing. You’re both upstanding men, who’ve been injured and nearly died for our country, and neither of you indulge in stereotypes, except perhaps your love of music. But your relationship, begun through a torid affair, in which a man was wrongfully imprisoned-“

“You can’t be wrongfully imprisoned if you’re convicted by the Wizengamot!”

“Why, of course you can. We all know how much Crouch wants to imprison suspects, Robards. A bit of pressure here, cajoling there, and suddenly, you’re innocent, and in prison.”

“If McTavish causes trouble for Rufus later, we can release Liam’s Veritaserum transcripts to the Prophet. Finn, I garuntee you that if you give him Veritaserum, you’ll prove he’s guilty.”

“Oh, I know I would. But here’s the thing, Robards. Even if, hypothetically, we had a Veritaserum transcript, people love a sordid story. By the time the rumor progressed to the point that you needed to release it, Rufus would be forced to resign. Even if he were appointed by Barty himself, he’d be forced to resign.” He stood, stepping around the desk, stopping far too close to Gawain’s chair for comfort. “There’d be doubt, Robards,” he whispered, breath tickling Gawain’s cheek. “Just a seed, at first. But seeds grow in to vines. And do you know what vines do, Robards?”

“If they’re the right kind, they wrap around stronger plants and destroy them.”

“If we do this now, it’ll be the Devil’s Snare that strangles Rufus’s career.”

“So you just want to let scum like Liam wander around?”

“You didn’t hear my key word, Robards. If we do this _n_o_w.”

“You’re going to investigate the Father…Philip.” It was all slipping in to place, now.

“Anyone that willing to jump to his son’s Defense, even after everything’s been explained…who even has dirt on Aurors that might arrest him is either stupid, or in the thick of it themselves. And you said it yourself. Philip McTavish is very bigoted indeed to believe, in his gut, that you were out to humiliate Liam, because that’s just what Muggle-borns do. Even when I explained everything and asked him to write whether Liam should be let free, and whether you were guilty of manipulating him, the Truth Ink still showed blue, not red, the way it would for a lie.”

 

“What would your Father have done, if I’d explained everything about the situation to him, and he were in Mr. McTavish’s place?”

“Da…Da would’ve said I’d done a terrible thing, and while he’d always be my Father, I needed to be kept away from decent folk.”

“So would mine, Robards. So would mine.”

“So, you’re letting me know you’re releasing him?”

“It’s not that easy, Robards. Barty Crouch needs a statement from you, recanting your accusations against Mr. McTavish, and admitting that you let personal grudges get in the way of your job. We all know it’s shite, of course, but no matter how flimsy it may be, it’ll be on public record, and he can be released. Later, we’ll withdraw it, and say it was a ploy to lure the father in.”

“Will I be sacked?”

“No, no. Put on mandatory Counciling, which will essentially be the two of us drinking coffee and trying to find a way to pass an hour.”

“There’s always paperwork. May I go?”

There was a wrap on the door, and Finn nodded.

“Go ahead, Robards.”

He strode across, and there was Rufus. Of course; it was just that sort of day.

“I assume Finn told you.”

“Yeah,” Gawain answered.

“Finn and I should…” he looked utterly lost for a moment, hands outstretched as though searching the air for answers. “Should…go over timetables.”

“It’s going to be fine, rufus.”

“Yes, of course. There are many other worthwhile endeavors than Minister For Magic. It shall…simply take time to find one.”

“It’s going to be fine,” he said again, squeezing Rufus’s shoulder.

“I just wonder how long either of them will even stay there,” Rufus mused, softly. “With Voldemort breaking them out faster than we can put them in.”

And there it was, out in the open at last. The thing that meant his decision was, for all intents and purposes, made. Merlin knew Rufus was right about the breakout rate. How could he justify imprisoning a man, even two, for such a brief time and creating such immense scandal later on. Especially when, if he were just willing to slip a bit in to the grey, he would have both Liam and Mulciber, and perhaps Mr. McTavish, when…if…the war was ever done. And if it wasn’t…well, their brief stint in Azkaban really wouldn’t have mattered, anyway.

Chapter 10

Elayne was sitting by the Floo, trunks and boxes piled around her, when he walked through the door.

“Elayne?”

“Crouch told me. About your statement, and why you did it.” He reached for her, and she came to him. But she was stiff, almost rigid.

“I’m leaving, Gawain. No coming back in the morning, and saying how sorry I am.”

“Why?”

“Because I sat here for hours. And at first, I thought of saying we could leave the Ministry. I’ve been improving with Amulets and other protective and ornamental accessories that have some kind of charm on them. I thought of asking if we could strike out, build something away from the Ministry. Kingsley’s been thinking; Moody seems terribly distant, of late. And he’s been seeing more and more of Dumbledore. And we all know Dumbledore’s the only one the Dark Lord fears. Kingsley thinks he’s started some sort of resistance group. But you’d never do that, if you’ll do something like this to save Rufus’s career.”

“Elayne, you know I agree with Dumbledore, on principal. But he goes outside the law too much.”

“Oh, and the law’s such a grand thing it can never be broken?”

“Philip McTavish was going to twist the law against us. He could do that, even when we were precisely within the law. Every time someone goes outside the law, instead of trying to make it better, it makes it easier for people like McTavish. You use situations to create precedents, so that the law fits the times and the people. You don’t just…disregard it entirely.”

“Oh, so you’re setting a precedent?”

“No, we’re setting a trap.” She’d relaxed against him for a moment, and he warmed to his theme. “It’ll just take time, Elayne, and then we’ll have both the McTavishes’ and Mulciber, too!”

“Too many people get hurt, doing it your way. There’s a group of people we’re starting to see crop up at all the fights…they’re the ones Kingsley and I are theorizing are part of Dumbledore’s resistance group. But, they come in, and they capture Death Eaters. It may not always be legal or neat, but they get thrown in Azkaban.”

“And then, they break out. That’s why I did what I did. Don’t you see, Elayne? Philip McTavish would create all sorts of trouble, and his son would be set free anyway.”

“And while he was inside, he wouldn’t be helping Mulciber rape women,” she said, coldly. “There are people other than Rufus who would be equally good as Minister. Every report of an Imperius, for the next months or years until this is over, you’ll wonder if it’s Liam. And you’ll know that you put Rufus Scrimgeour’s career above people’s safety.”

“I put Rufus’s career above maybe a month of safety! And we’ll get them both, this way.”

“People’s blood will still be on your hands, Gawain.”

“Don’t you see,” he whispered, helplessly, “The Rules have to stand. We just have to make sure the fewest people are hurt by them while we make them better. We can’t just run roughshod over them. I can’t just destroy someone’s dream, which is unjust and cruel by any measure you take, so people can sit in prison for a few weeks and then roam free.”

“You really believe that, don’t you?” she asked after a while, and her eyes were swimming.

“Yes.”

“I need Arthur, not Lancelot.”

“What?”

“Lancelot saw the shades of grey. It’s what allowed him to sleep with his best friend’s wife. I need Arthur.”

“Arthur got murdered by his own son,” he reminded her, bitterly.

“Because he always tried to do what was right, even when doing wrong would have been easier. He knew how twisted his son was, but he wanted to try and help, anyway. You know it’s wrong to sacrifice any safety people can get, no matter how fleeting, to either catch more criminals or save Rufus’s career. And yet, you’ll do it, because-“

“Don’t tell me it was easy, Elayne! You can think whatever you like about me; I can’t stop you. But don’t tell me that sitting in Barty Crouch’s office and lying through my teeth…making myself out to be some filthy piece of shite whose so selfish and small, he’d let personal grudges blind him to innocence…Don’t tell me that was easy. I worked the last five years to be nothing like Liam! To be someone who saved people who couldn’t save themselves, who never let an injustice pass without righting it, or trying too. I worked to be everything I think Aurors should be, and I’ll keep doing it, for the rest of my life. But if we put Liam McTavish in to jail now, Philip will be on the alert. Anything he knows, anything he has, he’ll hide. We’ll never find him, and he’ll be free to spread his poison until the day he dies. I can’t believe you don’t think I’ll wake every night, hearing Tezlin screaming, seeing the faces of every other woman they torture until we can finally imprison-“

“But you wrote the statement anyway. There’s part of me that even understands why. But I can’t condone it; not giving those women safety is murder, Gawain. Philip McTavish has never caused trouble before. And when the war is over, he’ll go back to his quiet life. Arresting him won’t provide safety. All it’ll do is make Rufus minister. So, don’t pretend you’re arresting two hardened criminals; you’ll be arresting one criminal, and one idiot, and giving the criminal time to kill other people. All because you plan to change the laws, later.” She tilted up, and kissed him, once more, and he clung, like a child. He wanted to scream, cry, beg, but he knew it would be no use, and when she pulled back, his face was impassive.

“Don’t leave,” he said, swallowing back the tears, “I’m already paying on the house I told you I’d buy for us. I wanted to show you for your birthday next week. I’ll move there, and you can keep the flat.”

“You don’t need too.”

“You love this neighborhood. It’s only fair.” His words were emotionless, staccato.

“I love you, Gawain. And I believe you’ll do wonderful things; the cost is just too high for me to condone. I may be on a fool’s quest, looking for an Arthur-““

“If anyone can find one, other than Dumbledore, it’ll be you. In fact, you may already have and just not know.”

“Thank you,” her voice had roughened, and he saw the tears beginning to slide down her cheeks. “Thank you for being decent about this, Gawain. Thank you so much.”

Chapter 11  
January 1996

Slowly, his breath came back, as the memories faded.

The first month after he’d left the flat had been hell. He’d been nearly catatonic, going through the motions at work and then going home to curl on the sofa and not move until Rufus shook him awake for work the next day. The house would’ve been a squalid mess, except that Rufus knew cleaning Charms. And could cook, thank Merlin, at least a decent fryup, or he probably would’ve only had one meal a day, courtesy of the Ministry’s dining hall.

What had happened with Liam was something he and Rufus never discussed again, even when both McTavishes were indeed arrested after the end of the war, and it was found that Philip McTavish had hidden a great deal of secrets in his quiet life. Rufus was simply there. And slowly, things got better.

By the time the war ended; they’d both come out of it with their injuries (Rufus with a limp, and Gawain with enough scars to make him look competent to any interview subject), and their nightmares. And Gawain had come out of it with a cause.

It had happened just after the Karkaroff trial, when Crouch was dispensing Aurors to track the suspects Karkaroff had named. He’d stopped by Gawain’s desk and said quietly: “Conventional justice would have me keep Karkaroff in prison, no matter what information he could provide. Just as it would have had you arrest Liam McTavish at the first opportunity, no matter what was gained by waiting. I released a coward who did little damage today, Robards, for the opportunity to defang the true serpents.” Crouch had swept off, in that imperius way of his, and nothing more had been said.

But Gawain had thought, and then talked, long late-night philosophical debates with Rufus, and then later with Amelia and Rufus both. And he’d begun to hammer out his own definition of justice. To do whatever one has to to keep the most people safe, and to put those in power who will do the same. But to never let yourself be lulled in to not examining and reexamining every decision, to ensure that it truly was for the good of the people, and not your own good. To do what was right, even if it looked as though you were doing what was wrong.

He’d slowly, painfully, begun to rebuild his life around that work. And he’d eventually gotten his promotion, though it’d been so very bitter. Every life he could save was penance for all the crimes Mulciber and Liam had committed in that horrible final year of the war.

No matter how many he’d saved or bettered, he could never quite find absolution. But there were days now when he thought he was coming fairly close.

“Well,” he said softly after a while, reaching to clasp Rufus’s wrist, “A pact?”

“To do what?”

“Whatever we have too, to see this man defeated and keep our own morality at the same time.”

“And what if defeating him means giving up our morality?” Rufus asked quizzically, clearly rather irritated with philosophizing at a time like this.

“Then we stand down to better people We can’t become the monsters that replace Voldemort.”

“I’ll agree to that.”

“I thought you would,” he said, smiling. He rose after a moment.

“Are you staying for dinner?”

“If I’m invited?”

“Steak sound good.”

“Excellent,” he said, following Gawain in to the kitchen.

“Good,” he said, as he summoned the steaks from the icebox, and set the knives to chop.


End file.
